Fellow Writers. . .

I've tried placing my story online, and then placing links to it through my Blog; however, with few responces, relating specificly about it. Then, just today I stumbled onto a fanfiction writer's site. Nice to see others, who admire the Master, as much as I do. I'm not trying to plagiarize Tolkien, just continuing in the vain of his legacy, with 'our' own stories. . .

Living in the moment of no Regrets

I'm not a selfrighteous person, though I've been called that before; I just strive to be a better person than I was the day before.

I sometimes I play this head game, where I am a time traveler. "What if" I have returned back in time, to some critical point in my personal life; at the moment just before some grand event which alters everything forever? So, 'what if' today, I have been given that second change, (the one we all beg for), to actually relive that pivotal point, again? I strive to live the fullest experience of the moment; trying to live with no regrets. Obviously I've not always been successful. Yet, developing a positive attitude - though I fight off the negative ones, that creep in at times, is what I work towards.

I've always enjoyed such stories. Like John Titter in his Machine, warping time, Tunneling back to 1975 to retrieve an out-of-date IBM Computer, to repair his own equipment. If I were able to do so; "when" would I go?

Or would Frodo's Ring be better?

My TEXAS DRIVER LICENSE...

Gesssh! I look kinda scary here. LOL, like some kind of drug crazed Biker. I like the picture, but on a Driver's License you don't want to give the Cops added attention for yanking you out of the car and beating you to a bloody pulp. Myabe for my next picture I'll put my hair up in a pony tail, wear a light colored shirt, and give a clean shaved smile; with out my glasses on. Nah; I'll just blur the picture like TooKong. Yeah, that'll throw 'em off my trail.

I haven't done drugs in years, the bike's in the shop, and no one's made me crazed in awhile...

We all have Skeletons...

We all have skeletons; some remain in the closet, or are buried deep in our forgotten past, as others may have been resently recovered. Yet, some corps are in the making even now.

The Good Bood says, "We've all come short of the glory of God, for all have sinned; no not one is righteous..." But some "sins" are worse than others. Sometimes the desire to get out from under, and away from our skeletons manifest its self by sharing, acknoweldging those dark secerts with others; even be they complete strangers.

How should one react to another's sharing of their "sins"? Depends. To who, how dark, and how yours compares to theirs. Skeletons once served a purpose; lost their appeal, and are then discarded in hopes of being forgotten... they sometimes find a way of showing up again.

What are some of yours? -

When Lightening Strikes Dead Center...

Got to see an 'ol new friend for lunch, and discused encrypted conversations over Burgers and Onion Rings. It was like "hitting the nail straight on the head" the first time; a perfert lightening strike caught on film - you know, a conversation where the other individual knows exactly! where you're coming from... Thanks Dr. T-Rex, I needed that!

Story Boarding with Photoshop...

Sometime ago, a (now former) co-worker, Tookong, gave me Photoshop{ "his purchased copy of"- Lord forbid anyone think "of a pirated copy", you can show death and gorey images, and graphicly detailed images of Sex acts, but hey folks let's not talk of pirated software or talk ill of our employers, least leaning ears hear!} ; and I've been like a kid with a new toy, enjoying it ever since. Yes, I have to admit I surf the web stealing pictures from various sites. I've forgotten exactly which sites they've all come from, but the thing about compositing photographs is that the end results are new pictures unrecognizable from their original beginnings.

I usually sketch, or draw ideas from my story; yet with PS, the images seem to birth new details drawing me deeper into my tale than before. So, is my hope of drawing my readers, and surfers into actually reading The Nephilim Age. Please feel free to leave any comments or sugestions to better improve the story. . . . . .

Entering Greenleaf...

". . . Long ago the United Realm of the Elves and Dwarves was destroyed by the Nephilim of Mithar. Later, the son of the fallen elven king leads a party in search for any surrivors of that onslaught; driven by relentless dreams and visions, he is compeled to march forward.

The once lush Greenleaf flurished with the sounds of birds, and teemed with a multitude of game. Upon their arrival, the king is confronted with an image not from his youth. For the woods have become overgrown, and its densness crowding them toward a single pathway..."

Entering the deepths of depression...

As they draw closer the pathway leads through entangling trunks that reek of foreboding shadows. The still air is dank, with the meldew of forgotten things. As the party of seven reluctenly enter, one by one they find themselves weaving beneath draped, moss covered vines. Whispering voices grow louder into mornful cries, and welling.

The party's sparce converstations fall silent. An errieness befalls them all, as bows are drawn, and swords unsheathed..."

A dark secret revealed...

". . . As they round a great trunk the moans fade. The silence is deafening. Even the dry leaves underfoot refuse to anounce the stranger's arrival.

One of the company points out to the king a carved face on the trees. Faces, almost frozen in grotesque screams. Like melted wax, they are etched from the bark's very flesh; yet, their hollowed eyes seem deathly alive with unblinking stares..."

Warning of revenge...

". . . Knocking on wood would have evoked the spirits to your command, so it was said. But these trees were awake already, and with their demands. Fear griped even the heart of the king, as he and his party listened to their woeful betrayals...

Then a great oak creaked its wood-breaking words, "I am Darkroot, once called Malon`dir... I remember falling, as a sharp pain hit my back, and a shaft peirced my chest. I knew I wanted to live, but the pain was overwhelming. The corridor in which I ran through spun about, then all went black. When I awoke I saw the woods in which you now stand. We are the DeadWood, of the old forest. Beware, for our anger runds deep. Great is our dispare, and black our bitterness against those who slew us, and... against those who do not avenge!"

" I am Twisted-Keen; and we are the slain - all that remain of those who fled, but fell to Ipstha's new masters."

"Until our slaughter is avenged,"Darkroot continued,"we remain as you see us now; wicked in our bitterness to strangle those who come beneath our branches. Darker than we, are those of our dwarven kin. For, though they do not speak as we, the roots of their wrath is far greater."

The king knelt with a bowed head, and swore to avenge them. As they turned toward the tunneled enterance, in the westren walls of the Twilight mountains, a new warning came..."