True Son Of The Empire

My Novel, True Son Of The Empire is out!

True Son of the Empire Cover

And I know it’s been too long since I last posted anything in my blog.  I apologize for that.  Writing a book took a bit too much time.  But now it’s out, and I do plan to post more here.

But if you want the book, you can get it here:

Paperback Novel

Kindle eBook

Kobo eBook

Published in: on September 28, 2015 at 11:34 am  Comments (1)  

Third Draft Finished!

I finished my third draft.  I found a few problems which still need worked on, some consistency issues, and a few things I don’t like.  Overall, though, I’m pretty pleased.  I’ve got a skeleton in place, and I’ve put a bunch of muscle on it.  

Sorry, I’m thinking about Rocky Horror and I can’t get the “In Just Seven Days, I can Build Make You a Man” song out of my brain.

I’ll be doing most of the work on the project here:


Published in: on August 18, 2014 at 3:50 pm  Leave a Comment  


Here’s a thing I wrote.  More are here:


Kerry and I are sitting with our bare feet hanging over the edge of the cliff, watching the sun sink into the sea.  We are so high up that the kids walking along the beach don’t notice us as they start trundling along below us.  I figure they are about twelve or thirteen, but it’s a bit hard to tell from this distance.

Slowly they walk along, making a concerted effort not to really look at each other.  She keeps watching the waves churn onto the sand.  He is mostly watching the ground in front of them.  They are obviously having the sort of earth rending conversations that only teenagers can manage, and the drifting murmur of their voices is scattered across long pauses and evening winds.

She is very deliberately swinging her arms.  The boy steps with each swing, like it’s a metronome.  His right hand clenches into a fist, and then stretches wide and starts to move out toward her pendulum fingers.  Just before they touch, he draws back.

Kerry confirms my suspicion that the girl knows.  She is waiting for him to stop her overly exaggerated swing, but he is not brave enough or wise enough to read the signals.

I agonize for him.  I was twelve the first time I fell in love.  He can’t stop thinking about her and he doesn’t know what to say to her.  She is waiting for him, and in his head, he knows it must be true.  Every time he reaches to her though, the intensity of first love, the all-consuming, entirely confusing need he feels for her is too much.  There is no way she could want him to hold her hand as much as he wants to hold hers.  It is entirely impossible, and when their skin meets, he now knows she will recoil.  He has to pull back, so he can hold on to hope for a moment longer.

All the while, she keeps waiting, as consumed and confused as he is, wanting and waiting.  He never comes right out and says he loves her, never touches her except by accident, leaving her certain that she is imagining all the times it almost happens.

When I was twelve, I pulled back one time to many, and my first love moved away.

I reach out and squeeze Kerry’s hand, for the boy I was, for the boy below, and hope he is a braver child than I.

Published in: on January 1, 2013 at 10:30 pm  Comments (4)  
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The Dealer

I sat with the girl
Curls like deep dried blood
Danced around her near-smile
Soft scar on her chin stood
Against an incursion of joy

The cuffs on her wrists
The wrong elegance

She laid out the spades
We both remained trapped
By greed or absence
All our waning strength sapped
Acting the hour as happy

Published in: on December 3, 2012 at 5:06 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Leonard Cohen in Concert

When I started listening to Leonard Cohen, he had been living in a monastary for 5 years.  I pretty much assumed that, like most of the music I started to listen to when I started university, it was by someone I would never see live.

Which is fine by me, because I prefer the prefection of a studio recording.  I like it to be exactly how the artist wanted the music to sound, because they could retry if they didn’t like it.  So, I assummed from when I first began to worship the man as something like a god, except far more powerful and actually real, I would never be in his presence.

Because I decided that years ago, I didn’t realize, until I pulled up wikipedia to write this blog, that he toured in 2008 and 2010.   But shut-up.  You don’t know what your favourite band is doing right now, so back off.

When Old Ideas, his newest album came out in January, I fell completely in love with it.  It is amazing.  It’s a beautiful look at mortality and regret, and it’s uplifting and heartbreating.  It’s aboslutely amazing, and when I learned he was touring, I was like a hawk on the ticket release date.  I was going to get me those tickets.  I registered with something or other to prebuy, and got myself floor seats on the Saddledome.

I picked up two tickets because I assumed I would find some cute single girl to take with me, because I have a completely off idea of who Leonard Cohen fans are.  See, most of the times I talk about music, it’s because I’m trying to impress a girl with how good my taste in music is.  It’s usually some really cute crunchy granola girl who cares about the world and buys clothes at second hand stores, half for the irony, and half because they care more about art than money.

Basically, her.

So, I’m looking for these girls, and they’re not showing up.  Then I start looking for other people, who at least like Leonard Cohen.  Sure, they exist, but everyone I talked to either ended up busy on the night of the show, or they weren’t interested in several consecutive hours of his music.

So, like I always do in times of great crisis, I made Kodie my solution.  I forced him to come along, because somehow, after 20 years, I can still talk him into my plans.

When I got there, I found out that the average Leonard Cohen fan is a little more…


I mean, he was born in 1934, so I’m not quite sure why I didn’t think a 78 year old genius wouldn’t have gathered fans over the years, and lots of them had known about him since … before I was born.  I mean, there were some cute young girls there, but they were spaced out amongst a sea of silver.

So I got myself a Saddledome crack-beer, and we found our seats.  And then everything was amazing.  Leonard Cohen bounded onto the stage, so full of life and energy.  He loved the crowd, and we loved him back.  He was funny, and engaging, and his songs brought him to his knees with the remembered pain and the perfect catharisis.

Every musician on stage with him was extraordinary.  They could have filled theatres themselves.  They were there to play with him.  Each one was a master, and everything sounded so … perfect.

And I was worried that my expectations would be impossible to live up to.

He played for an hour and a half, and then announced he was taking a break.  Back in reality, Kodie was … suprised to learn that we were only a half hour in.  He … he wasn’t having the blast I was, because he likes music by people who aren’t part of our grand parents generation.  He’s a little less “Hallalujah” and a little more “Call Me, Maybe.”

So we had an intermission, and then another hour and a half of great music.  Then a three song encore.  And then another.  The third standing ovation brought him out again, and he sang again and Kodie gave me this “I’m going to kill someone” look.  I assumed it might be me.  So we started heading to the door.  Leonard told us it was alright during the first encore.  “If you have someone waiting,” he said “Go to them.  If you have time, friends, I’ll sing a few more songs.”

He’s the best.

But Kodie told me that I now owed him.  Kodie never says that.  He just puts up with my ridicilous bullshit.  So basically, if Cher does another fairwell tour (her third, I guess it would be), Kodie’s boyfriend is off the hook.



Worth it.


Published in: on November 26, 2012 at 5:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Casino Queen

This piece is what I call a song scene.  Basically, it’s what I see when I listen to the Asteroid Galaxy Tour’s song The Golden Age

Years before the waves of feet washed the colour from the casino carpet, she stepped out of the lift.  The tight black dress she wore, slit to the hip, was covered in swirling oriental dragons.  The diamond dipped earrings hung heavily on her ears.  A complex chaos of blonde hair framed the smile that melted the room.  Crowds parted as she wandered through the floor, and she had no doubt she left adoration in her wake.

She ordered an expensive sounding chardonnay from a familiar waitress beside the roulette table.  She wielded this graceful scepter as she held court over the long velvet table and the spinning wheel.  The players vied for her attention, until she chose a lucky loser with the good sense to bet big.  Pressed to his arm, she shone as his luck and his chips dwindled.

When her chosen champion was finished losing, she left the half-finished wine flute on the buffer, a cherry-red kiss on its rim as memorandum of her presence.  She walked through the lounge to a door you had to know to notice, and slipped into her narrow dressing room.  In the halo of the mirror, she flirted with herself, raking mascara through her long lashes, blowing kisses into wonderland.  When she was finally satisfied, she drifted into the backstage hallway, an unglamorous affair, more like an abandoned school than a star’s greenroom, to await the start of her simple show.

The man behind the piano had brilliant fingers, but when she stepped into view, he was forgotten.  She rasped smoky lust songs.  The faithful worshiped her, the men who came every night while they were in the city.  Curious heads poked into the room, and found a set.  She knew not a single one, and she adored every last one of them.  She worshiped their worship, and they warmed her to the core.

The next afternoon, a lucky winner in a rented convertible pulled up before the casino lobby.  She floated down the lift from her suite.  Her head was wrapped in a beige scarf, her eyes shaded by thick sunglasses, her form unhidden in the wrap of a trench coat.  The only soul brave enough to speak to her after her set held open the car door, and she slipped in, unnoticed by a public that wouldn’t recognize her.

They headed off the strip, to a movie theatre playing a film in which she was a minor background player.  He pretended she was the star she felt she should be, and she pretended he was more than a handsome face with a small measure of caramel coated charm.  They left to the falling rain.  He fumbled to resecure the roof while she clung to the doorway under the marque.  She laughed and smiled at the jeweled city.  He was certain he had hit the jackpot.

At the hotel, she graced him with a quick kiss before she disappointed him.  She headed back into the cacophonous din of her delusion, happy and lost in the artifice of the world she built.

Published in: on November 14, 2012 at 6:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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So, a few days ago, a beautiful and talented woman asked me what I was working on creatively.  I was embarrassed by the answer, and it was only made worse because she was super hot and better at art then me.  Basically, if you’re reading this, you know I’ve done nothing in months, and very little all year long.

I’ve got to change that, and that’s going to take some concerted effort.  Basically, I’m going to regularly need to make sure I keep writing.  I may make a couple of changes around here to make sure that happens.  I’m also going to need to look after my other stuff, like my deviant art page.  I might make some formatting changes to my blog.

One of the things I noticed is I’ve become a little insecure about the things I like.  I watch a lot of fantastical movies and tv shows, and read books where extraordinary things happen, but I don’t want to write about that.  I need to figure out how to let that go.  If I read Game of Thrones, then there’s nothing wrong with writing fantasy.  When I watch Supernatural, even in to Season 7, where it gets next to unwatchable, why can’t I write some horror stories.

Although, something I might start doing more of is scenes from songs.  I get a lot of strong imagery in my mind’s eye when I listen to music.  I’m going to write more of those.

Basically, I don’t care what you think.  Unless you’re a beautiful and talented woman, then I care that you think I make good art.  The most important lesson I learned from my Creative Writing Professor in University is that the point of art is impressing cute girls on the off chance it will get you laid.

Published in: on November 13, 2012 at 7:42 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Love and Night Driving

I miss driving at night and being in love.

Backing up a step, I’ve just recently gotten a car again.  I have been, for the most part, vehicle-less since I returned from Japan.  I probably could have gotten one sooner, but I wanted to wait until I could afford one I love.  And I love my new car.  I’m readjusting to the freedom, to the larger range of my life, and the new options.  I’m also being reminded of things I miss.

I used to have something of a preference for long distance relationships.  See, I like my space, often several hundred kilometres of it.  I like the idea of everyone in the relationship having their own  very separate lives, that coincide when we plan for it.  Specifically, I want her to have an awesome life full of cool things, while I play video games and watch DVDs, and then we spend our weekends together.

I miss driving at night, a dark highway interrupted by clusters of street lights.  It’s an amazing feeling, flying across the deserted world, singing along with a radio turned up way to loud.  Somewhere, down that fading ribbon of road, there’s an amazing, beautiful woman waiting for me.

Because if you lived more than an hour away, and I was willing to repeatedly drive an hour to see you, you were both amazing and beautiful.  I those are kind of my requirements for an exclusive relationship; spectacular, gorgeous, and at least 60 minutes away from the rest of my life.

It is hard to find a time when you feel more in love; it has been days since you last saw her, everything you are doing, you’re doing for her, and she is just as excited about it as you are.  I miss that rush, that roaring, wild drive to fall down with someone who was worth the wait.

As a side note, if any woman who lives within say, 100 to 250 kilometres of Calgary, who is at least an 8 out of 10, who is absolutely fascinating, and happens to be single, I’m available for love-struck drives to your bedroom.

8s will need to provide the ingredients for breakfast, but I’ll still cook it, because I should bring something to the relationship.

I’m Back

Hey Internet!

I still exist.  And I’m here because I’m starting a new project.

Have you ever seen Brad Neely’s brilliant “Wizard People, Dear Reader?”  If not, check out a piece of it here:

The Cribbage Match

Basically, I want to do the same thing.  Create an alternate audio track.  During Stampede, to avoid the heat, we sat in the basement a lot, and we watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  And I want to change all the words.  I just need to do a few things.

1. Script a very long movie

2. Synch up the timing with the action on the screen

3. Buy the audio equipment to produce the script

4. Figure out how to work the audio equipment.

5. Record my super long script.

6. Produce it

7. Distribute it

8. Repeat 2 times.

So let’s see how this goes…


Published in: on July 16, 2012 at 5:22 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Never Resolutions

I told someone today that I was writing today, and they asked me if it was because of a New Years Resolution.

It’s not.  I don’t think you should ever wait for an arbitrary date to make a change in your life.  New Years means something because we decided it does, and it encourages you to make your life better.  But you should always be looking for ways to improve your life, to make things better. 

Never wait when you think of a way.  Life is as short as it is beautiful.  Waiting is agreeing to die in silence.  Never do it.  Always live when you can ,because next week is not gaurenteed.

Published in: on January 10, 2012 at 5:41 pm  Leave a Comment  
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