Drifting Anchors.

For each of us, we have our anchors; those very things that ground us and keep us focused. For me it has always been a deep seated routine and habitual nature. However, as a counter balance to this I have also always been driven by a knack for being consumed by a passion to the point of what I confess could be called obsession. It has been a strength and a weakness.

What makes me good at some of the things I do is this very ability to immerse myself in a project and so long as I have something like it to direct my efforts everything goes well for me. The problem therein though lays with my very nature. It is when I lose that project or activity that I can direct my time and attention on that I fall apart.

As an example; I have often fallen into a routine in my mornings where I spend a portion of my time working on a story or some other activity. Inevitably though, I finish the story off or something in my life happens that completely destroys my habitual pattern. It can be anything from an unfortunate surge in my daily deluge of drowsiness due to my Narcolepsy to my children falling ill. It doesn't much matter what the reason is; all that matters is the fact that once my pattern is disturbed it can be hard for me to recover.

This may be interpreted by some as an excuse or just a lack of commitment. I mean, let's face it; if someone said they couldn't complete a simple task because they were interrupted that would be some pretty weak tea. I am not saying by any means that if I have to step away from working on something that I am forced to completely forgo any efforts to complete it. Far from it.

What I am saying is this; if I begin working on a story or project and fall into a daily routine/pattern of spending x amount of time on it, completing a set degree of progress or doing a specific part of it at a regular interval then if something disrupts me I may not exactly be able to get myself back on track easily. There have been times where I had a completed piece of work before me, but as I was trying to revise/refine it something occurred that prevented me from resuming my regular routine. By the time I was able to whatever factors that had me in the appropriate creative environment were gone.

Imagine being in the mood for Italian food but all you can spare the time for is a street vendor hot dog or supermarket check-out candy bar. You can always eat it and go on but it doesn't necessarily satisfy you. For me it can be like that if the various circumstances behind the scene place me in the mindset for a science fiction tale when I had been working on something fantasy based. I may still be able to produce something but without that drive it never turns out quite the same.

I've said it before; a writer can always write something - even if it is just something about a cheese sandwich. A repair man can also patch up a problematic part. It doesn't mean that it is a perfect fix. Sometimes it is just something that will work and get you by.

Myself, I am a husband and Father of four children. My youngest son struggles with a generalized anxiety disorder as well as obsessive compulsive tendencies and my youngest daughter has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Even without considering their own problems, my health or the innate issues of four children interacting in a small house etc it should be obvious to grasp how easily life can disrupt your schedule.

Over the last few years I have had to have surgeries on my wrist, my neck and lost all feeling from the shoulder down in my right arm along with a good measure of function from it. And I am right handed. This hasn't exactly helped my productivity, I'm afraid.

However, with that said I have been working on a story I began some time back recently. Trying to jump back into it and get myself back into a routine to occupy my mind. Even with extensive notes or previous work to guide me it isn't without difficulty to drop back into a story in the middle and try to move forward without problems.

While working on this story I was contacted regarding another old story, or I should say an initial part of one. Albeit vague, interest was expressed in the potential continuation of the tale. A topic of which I can admit (like most of my stories) that there may exist more written about or at the very least some detailed notes covering the direction of things.

Even when things throw me off track that doesn't mean I have completely drifted free from my anchor. I may not be able to return to every story or project and for those that I do it may take some time. But I don't generally just start something without intending to finish it. I need something to direct my passion, I rely on a routine I can focus myself on. Sometimes I get blown off course and I have to engage in alternate tasks until I can find my way back.

I doubt I will ever be able to quit being anything other than what I am. To anyone else out there governed by a similar nature I can only wish that your own anchors, regardless of how much you may find yourself drifting away from them, remain tethered enough that you never lose them.

Stay anchored, stay driven and do what you love. Life will always be there to rock the boat.

An Open Letter Post.

An Open Letter Post.

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been scribbling stories for far longer than I can accurately calculate. My imagination has been jammed into the over-drive position for perhaps an even greater number of years. And, in all that time; I have enjoyed every story, every awkwardly constructed game or moment of pretending. Not because I think or feel that it makes me special, superior or needed by others. I have cherished all those endlessly connected tiny moments because woven throughout them are series of smiles, giggles, grins and heart-warming shared sincerity.

In recent years, I can humbly attest and/or admit that my own skill with which I apply to my beloved past-time hasn't been anything that can realistically approach the level of a professional. On the topic of telling stories I can concede that my own are anything but worthy of high praise or comparison to the likes that end up on best-seller lists. Nor can I claim that my work on role-playing games or programming projects is anything more than idle efforts of fancy or hobby/enthusiast interest.

All that being said, one of the greatest gifts I have received and a constant source of joy for me is when I see a string of traffic visiting my blog that displays even a single view of one of my stories in order of the episodes/chapters/segments released. It is rare that I ever hear a word of feedback, an opinion or admiration. Even so, when I notice a pattern of traffic that highlights someone even looking at the released parts of a story I am filled with a wave of accomplishment.

I can recall those first days of toiling to create a fictional setting that other might enjoy. It is nothing short of poetic irony that that self-same setting was the seed for so many stories; so much time spent enjoying entertaining others and produced a creation that I am still tinkering on to this day. Recently I realized that the fictional setting I had developed and used for a game focused landscape had become the backdrop for me to place short stories and novellas. Seeing the game that had given birth to that rich environment collecting dust made me realize it was something I couldn't leave laying idle. It was worth refining and reviving.

For me, the process of creating a story or working on a game is a labor of love. I do such things not for gain or to pursue the approval of others. I do them because they are worth doing and I have a story or something in me worth sharing. And as I look back there were simply too many memories, laughs as well as smiles that were experienced in the company of others over one of these creations.

So, I’d like reassure any who may have been interested in the past, still are or might be just starting to become curious; I haven’t surrendered to silence yet and never will. My work on the science-fiction role-playing game setting project I refer to as Requiem (or Requiem d20) is alive and well. In fact, it is currently being analyzed, improved and redesigned to become the kind of game that I know it can be with the level of quality it deserves.

There is so much room for improvement within the work that has already been done on Requiem. Alternatively there is also a lot to celebrate about it. Even if I find areas where I notice equal degrees of ‘what was I thinking’ and ‘there is so much promise here.’

The passion has always been there, the flame never really dies. It is just the focus that might have shifted from time to time. But there are more tales left in the tank, more ink yet in the silver pen and I am not in the ground yet. Until that day comes I can’t imagine not getting lost in my own imagination on a regular basis.

If you have ever enjoyed any of my work before or are just starting to stumble into it then know that more will come. Requiem isn't going to be forgotten. You can always ‘rent Earl’s bullets,’ order some Vernian brew and load your trusty Mark VIII while you get ready to enter a deal with Gideon Coromaur. I have written so many stories set within Requiem’s New Republic but there were countless others that came before – shaped by the hands of those who have played around there. The future can only hold the prospect of new tales to follow.

I can only hope that you keep reading them, playing, sharing and smiling. Enjoy.

Sincerely,

Matthew C. Gill

What I’ve Been Doing Wrong.

What I’ve Been Doing Wrong.

While revising my most recent story I have discovered no shortage of short-comings to be addressed. But even once I set about writing entire new sections I found things far from ideal. So I did the one thing that may come hard for some writers; I took a long hard look at my work and asked myself what I’d been doing wrong.

Now, initially that may sound relatively easy. The problem about tackling such a task though is that to some people there are no flaws in their work. For some writers there may be essentially a big blind spot when it comes to critiquing themselves. And, let’s face it; you may be your harshest critic but if you can’t see what is wrong you’ll never see what you can fix.

What follows is going to be a list of things that I have been able to point out about my own work. They are all applicable to other peoples work as well so take what valuable advice there is to be had from them and apply it to your own if it helps. Even if you don’t know how to address them, just knowing what they are can lead you to learning more about how to improve your writing.

• Using I: There are more ways to deliver details or use internal monologue. ‘I’ do not have to place everything into the ‘I’ bucket. Be smarter than that! Look for other ways to say what is being said. Ask yourself; isn’t there a better way to say it?
• Talk Is Cheap: If everything is being spelled out by internal dialogue then the reader is going to feel led about like a child. Show them! If a sword is sharp don’t spend all day explaining it – show it slicing through something that demonstrates that fact. Don’t waste your words waxing philosophical or repetitively rehashing the same plot points over and over either. Say it, show it then get out and move on. Keep the action in motion – because it isn’t called action by being still.
• Long Winded Means Little: If I’m making every sentence push the boundaries of run-ons then I’m just creating clutter. Seriously! People don’t want to read redundantly over-burdened paragraphs. Get to a point as efficiently as possible. Make it faster, make it fun. Does it need all those adjectives? Can it be said in fewer words? If so, then do it!
• Your Protagonist Is The Center Of The Story, But Not The Universe: Even in a first person narrative where the reader is in on a form of literary ride-along the key truth is that you cannot shoulder everything on that. What this amounts to is that you shouldn’t show and tell it all from them alone. Let others speak, show things in the surroundings, and let the reader put the pieces together. To ignore these things is to court death via the ‘everything is ‘I’ issued.’ Never, EVER, allow yourself to stumble into that pitfall.
• Describe What Is Necessary, Don’t Over Detail What Isn’t: Should you establish the environment? By all means lay that layout out for your reader! But for heaven’s sake don’t waste details on common things like the color of a candle’s wax when you haven’t even named a prominent side character. If it is worth knowing then name it, detail it and don’t waste those words. You don’t have to provide every element about each person or piece of the environment.
• Clues Are Key: If you’re trying to weave a work with any measure of mystery then you have to keep those keys in mind. You cannot do them lip service or litter them about using little more than the protagonist’s say so. That is just sloppy and a reader will notice it. Take your time, back up and incorporate those clues. Do not make your protagonist the only source.
•  Being Vague Is Bad, Unless It’s Good: The point being that it is okay to be vague or general if it is appropriate. When it becomes a problem is when you resort to relating everything in terms of ‘something’ this and ‘something’ that. If you are talking about something then say what it is. You are not creating any mystery by being vague. It is okay for the protagonist to not know everything, but that is no excuse to be bland about it.
• Tone And Voice: The personality may be there, the main character could be sarcastic, witty or charming but if you don’t use it they can’t shine. You have to leverage that and make it work for them. If they are deep and pensive then give them moments to showcase that. But temper those times with caution lest the story stall into a lengthy series of philosophical prose. Find the hero of the story’s voice, find their strengths and play to them but don’t use them exclusively. A strong swordsman is exciting in a fight but if all they can do is fight then they aren’t much fun outside of one. Consider that and by all means do not devolve into the reprehensible realm of the main character is the master of all things. Not only is it cheap, it’s lazy and will cost you any chance at interest.
• Narrative Nature: Make the choice before you begin and stick with it. If you are going to write in a set form like that of first person narrative then decide on if it is in the moment, looking back or some other variation thereof. Don’t jump around. Pick one and stand firm to it. But consider it well before you start. Think of how you will handle what your narrator will say and relate. You may need times to pause and break up monotony or it may be easier to get lost in the heat of the moment feel. Whatever you’re going for – go for it. Just think it through first.
• Take Off The Training Wheels: You will discover go to phrases, words and metaphors in your story as you write it. Despite the reflex to lean on them you should try to avoid it. It is a crutch that can cripple. A reader will only find it cute to see a witty ‘like a hot knife through butter’ only so many times. Don’t abuse their intelligence by thinking they’ll not notice some of the same tropes and tricks being shuffled or recycled around.
• Review Is Okay But Don’t Hammer Over Things Relentlessly: As the plot progresses it makes sense for the hero to review things and consider what to make of them. This can be done internally but shouldn’t be the primary or the sole means for this. Let them bounce ideas off of others or debate things. But in the end don’t turn it into a logic loop. Once the reader knows what is going on you shouldn’t slam them with wave after wave of blunt reminders. If a victim died from an unknown cause don’t keep brow beating them by pointing it out.
• Clever, Clear, But In Context: Watch your characters comments and try to keep them within context. Ask yourself why it matters and what they are speaking about. If they mention how something isn’t going to be simple then make sure you put it into the right context. Why will it be difficult? What does it matter if it is? Why mention it at all? Don’t just sling out commentary for its own sake.
• Trim Those Tags: Not ever spoken piece of dialogue requires some form of accentuation such as ‘said in astonishment,’ etc. Even if it did, trying to put in emotion or point it out could be better done by showing it. If a character is nervous then let them stutter or drop something to establish that rather then just saying so.
• Start At The Starting Line, Not Before: Just like a race it is cheating to take those initial strides before the race actually is being run. Start things off at the beginning, just before things change or right as the ball gets rolling. You don’t have to begin three months ago or thirteen years prior. Back-story can be filled in later or as you go when it becomes relevant.
• Jab, Don’t Gab: This goes back to the idea of getting in and getting out. If paragraphs are droning on and on to take up large portions you need to break things up. Rapid fire those jabs, land that literary punch and then position to follow up. Keep the reader on their toes and keep the action moving.
• Dumpshock: Sometimes there is valuable information to relay to the reader; research to be passed on and the like. Did you know that a thicker blade is heavier, more likely to tire an arm out faster and less likely to be turned aside/snapped? Does that even have any bearing at all on the scene in the story? If so then by all means highlight it. But if not, then let it go. The reader isn’t in it for a lecture on the mechanics of melee combat. Just because you’re informed, interested or experienced about a topic doesn’t mean it will impress them by flinging facts. Limit the dump truck data and filter it down to essential details only. The reader will appreciate the reduced clutter and confusion.
• Convenient Plot Isn’t Convenient: If the hero is handed the key puzzle piece at the perfect moment to save the day nobody really wins. Some acts of serendipity can be expected, even understandable. However outright convenient plot points simply do not work. If the story hinges on the bad guy stumbling and accidentally shooting themselves in the foot it is time to rethink things. Motive will go a long way – use it to form a foundation but watch out for all things involving coincidence. The characters must be responsible for any resolution otherwise why else are they in the story?
• Cut Those ‘To Be’s’ Off At The Pass: Words like am, are, is, was, were, be, become and became can distance the audience from the action, so avoid them. Here are some examples – Instead of saying will be different try will differ. Instead of saying it is interesting to me use it interests me.
• Tear It To Pieces: Dismantle, dissect, analyze and evaluate. Carpenters and mechanics deconstruct in order to see how to build. Artists and architects scrutinize and study in order to shape. Smash your story to bits, pick up the pieces and improve it. See what makes it work and what doesn’t. There is always more to learn and room to improve.
• Ground Rules Are Your Gravity: Define and establish what can and cannot be done by your characters. Hold those tenets true and keep them as an anchor. If the hero can see through a lie one minute then you can’t allow him to fall for a villain’s manipulative subterfuge by lying the next. Explain why a character can do what they do and allow them limits. Don’t give them catch all talents – even superman can’t see through lead, is crippled by kryptonite and is a hopelessly naïve Samaritan. Create the world first then set the story inside of it. Use the setting/background to develop the characters. Throw in things that fit for a reason. There must be a reason the story takes place and the characters happen (or happen to be) there. Make it an integral part, it should be a character all its own.

Just some things I found while trying to see what all I was doing wrong in my own story. Maybe they will help you in your own work.

I Blame The 90's.

For whatever it is worth I was born in the 80's and even as a child of that decade I have to concede the fact that while the 80's raised me, the 90's defined me. The first decade of my life was spent growing up in the 80's, but during the period of your youth that helps shape you into the person you will become I found myself passing through the 90's. It was an interesting time to be fair, and it obviously left its unique impression on me. Possibly in all manner of ways, some of them not readily apparent to me.

Well, maybe it was a product of my youth or maybe it had something to do with the fact that my wife recently played 'Guess this song,' with me using all manner of things we had grown up with. It might even be explainable by me listening to all manner of random 90's hits on Spotify or YouTube. (Hey, don't judge me those were some great times musically!) For whatever reason you care to blame it on I found myself with a concept for a story.

At first it was just a curious little idea that I wrote down a brief bit as it took shape. After a short bit of writing I was looking at a little introductory tease/hook if you will. I shared what I had with a dear friend and talented fellow scribe(and likewise child of the same era) who encouraged me to charge ahead and develop it further.

The following is the same sample I shared with him;

There exist certain people with the born ability to sense magic at will; we like to call those people SpellHounds. Traditionally, SpellHounds are only ever allowed to exist in the service of the Realm. With the potent talent to track and detect all uses of magic they make the ultimate investigators of all magical activity. But sometimes a SpellHound exists outside the service of the Realm. And sometimes, those SpellHounds are less than friendly about how they use their birthright.

My name is Nathanial Vaen, and I am a SpellHound. But despite what some might have you believe, I don’t work for the King, Queen or Country and I certainly don’t play for the morally ambiguous team. Life for a freelance SpellHound is anything but glamorous, but it is a life with some measure of freedom. And when someone’s neck is on the line, who would you really prefer to call? You want someone who can sniff out trouble and loyal enough to stick by you.

And that someone is me. At least as long as you got the coin for it. 

The central theme was the idea that what if people existed in a fantasy world who could actually sniff out sorcery. What if some gifted few could actually perceive the use of magic even more than just what those spells did after they were cast. Imagine if a man was murdered by a fireball from afar and someone was around able to follow the lingering trail of arcane energy to find the killer literally red handed with the same spell signature. Just think of it... It would be almost like Bloodhounds but for magic.

A fun vehicle to run with the notion I thought was something akin to a noir detective angle so I will admit that the hero is about as close to a private eye as he could be in such a setting. But in a world where such talents exist, it is only expected to find them pressed into service for king and country. Which means that for our hero, trying to go freelance may not be without its own trouble.

I have no real clue as to where this little avenue will take me, but I have to agree with my colleague that I should certainly allow it to develop further. So far it has been fun enough to make me set aside another work I had been planning to devote further attention to as my wrist/hand improved during my recovery. But even with my own lack of improvement I have been driven to peck out anything I can, even if it is in spurts.

Perhaps I'll share more of the story soon as it continues to evolve. Either way, I'd love to hear any thoughts on the matter. Does my little pitch peek your interest? Or does it find you with words like cliched coming to mind? I'm all ears, as always!

A Quiver of Questions.

Spring-boarding right off my last post I thought I might continue my initial train of thought and share with you a little 'quiver of questions,' if you will. The idea here is to provide with you a list of about 42 questions you can ask yourself as you begin any story. And, perhaps as you try to answer them you might even find new questions to expand on them as you go.

I've tried to keep them as neutral and unassuming as possible to help make them flexible enough to fit a variety of stories. Feel free to experiment with them as you shape your next story, add to them or disregard any you choose.

Your quiver of questions:

Who is the main character?

Why are they involved?

Who helps them?

Are there others who might help them or have some connection?

What motivates the hero?

Do they have any faults or strengths?

Where is the conflict?

Where does the story take place?

What kind of story is this?

What kind of tone is it told in?

Are there any major themes or minor plots involved?

Will there be any connection to other or ongoing stories?

Who is the villain?

Why are they the villain?

What resources do the have?

Do they have manpower they can call on?

What makes them so dangerous?

Do they have any redeeming qualities?

Is anyone stuck in the middle?

What is the scope of the story?

Will it take place in multiple locations or over large stretches of time?

Will there be any casualties, wounded victims or anyone hurt in some way?

How serious and/or mature will the story be?

Is the setting going to be significant in any way?

How much of the story’s setting will be seen and how much will remain from view?

Are there any important figures that are prominent in the story?

Do any organizations exist as a feature or plot element to the story?

Is there any legal or illegal enforcement present in the story (cops, gangs etc.)?

How advanced is the story setting, or if not how primitive is it?

Are there any pets involved?

Does the hero or villain have any family, children or loyal companions?

Will there be any complications that may arise during the story?

How easy or difficult will the hero or villain have it?

Does either have any handicaps or limitations?

How much violence will the story have?

Do guns or other weapons become a feature in the story?

Is there any supernatural, paranormal or advanced pseudo-science elements involved in the story?

What ruling powers or authorities are there in the story?

Are there in officials or representatives of said governments etc. that are involved in the story?

Why will they be involved in the story?

What is the overall generalized plot going to be?

Will there be any love interests or romance?

Hope it helps. Now, take aim, get ready and question at will!

Ask The Questions You Don’t Know The Answers To.

Ask The Questions You Don’t Know The Answers To.

As cliche as it must sound, I have to confess I always start out any potential story by working it out by writing my thoughts down. And, as unhealthy as it may also appear, a big part of that involves placing myself into two separate parts of a conversation on the matter. Yes, that’s right; the literary equivalent to talking to myself.

Allow me to elaborate (you’re free to think of me whatever you like later). Questions are a valuable tool when you’re trying to plot out your stories… plot. I try to question myself at every possible point that I can before I ever even begin writing. Hence the internal interrogation so to speak I mentioned before. But the most important questions you can ask yourself are the ones you don’t already know the answer to.

Let’s say for example you already know that you are going to write a super fun adventure romp about a courageous young knight hoping to earn fame and riches. So asking yourself what motivates him might be futile, since you already know he seeks glory and gold. But what if you asked yourself something like just how far the young hero is prepared to go in order to reach his goal? How much would he sacrifice for that renown? How much would he pay for a pile of treasure? And, in the end would it even really be worth it to them?

One of the best things I have found in my experience to do is to always ask yourself every question you can. Ask why the hero is even involved, ask what makes the bad guy so bad, and even ask where everything is going to go from where you are at. The important thing is that you are asking every question you can. Especially if it is one you don’t know the answer to.

Everybody at some time or another that writes a story finds they are missing some detail in their work. Maybe they overlooked the fact that they never fleshed out where the hero came from, or what the name of some other character was. No matter what it was we all stumble into these kinds of things. But perhaps by questioning things as we go we can help eliminate some of these potential thorns.

Now my method of talking it out with myself might not be the most productive application for everyone. I’ll freely admit that, for you it might work better to use this technique in a different way. But however you make use of it; it cannot hurt you to ask yourself questions while you write. Try to put yourself on the other side of the desk, look at it from both angles. If you’re going to have a hammer swinging savior ask yourself why they wield the weapon. Try to reason out an answer to any element of the plot you can.

Finally I’ll leave you with an excerpt from some of my own pre-story notes to further highlight my point by example:

From a potential future story tentatively titled ‘Time Enough for Trouble.”

Time Enough for Trouble

Teaser;

Samuel Stormcrow is a man with a certain predisposition for always finding trouble wherever he goes. And as a wandering nomad with no place to call home that often doesn’t help him when it comes to making friends. But when he finds himself being escorted into a orbital star port under the false claim of charges he is unable to resist waiting around to see just what trouble is about to come calling. One should always make time for a little trouble – otherwise you miss out on all the fun.

Who is the main character?

Samuel Stormcrow – wandering wildcard and often regarded as an ill-omen everywhere he turns up. A lean built, witty wanderer who has an unnatural talent for being very good at surviving. Samuel is quite capable of thinking on his feet, and infamous for being followed by trouble. However, Samuel never runs from a problem and in fact looks on trouble as something fun. To him each bizarre encounter is another entertaining tale to tell later on down the road. He has been bouncing around from port to port since he was little – the only thing that feels like home is the familiar feel of hustling travelers and the like.

To describe Samuel; let’s say he is a lean waifish young man with ruffled coal black hair and eyes that shimmer like pools of frosted pond water. He is somewhat of a carefree witty happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Samuel enjoys a good bit of fun and abhors boredom above all. While he isn’t one typically known to be the aggressor in a fight he doesn’t back down from one either. In fact he often provokes such confrontations both unintentionally and sometimes on purpose. Samuel isn’t known for carrying a weapon per se, but he is infamous for his knack of making use of his surroundings to improvise implements of use. He is a vast repertoire of random knowledge, useless facts, and meaningless stories including irritating anecdotes. In short – he is a wandering man with a talented tongue, razor sharp wit, and extensive experiences with which to draw on. His only real fault, if you can call it such, is an unlikely coincidence for showing up prior to unfortunate events.

With regards to his name; Samuel is very protective of his name – being Samuel. He considers it quite rude and almost an insult to be referred to as Sam, Sammy etc instead of his given name. His name is the only thing he was given as a child that wasn’t taken from him. He grew up orphaned and shuffling around, his name being etched on the inside of his jacket. Samuel has no knowledge of his family, birthplace or past beyond his earliest memories. The moniker of Stormcrow was bestowed upon him in his youth as a nickname because everyone constantly claimed he preceded their own ill fortune. It was, unfortunately a name that simply stuck with him so he eventually opted to adopt it. Why fight fate when you could embrace it and enjoy the ride? He looks on the name with a sense of ironic pride, since it provides him a feeling of identity. Samuel has kept the etched name patch from his childhood jacket and transferred it to every jacket he has ever worn since.

Does he carry even a single keepsake or scrap of belongings? Perhaps aside from his comfortable yet somewhat resilient clothing he carries with him an old rather rough for wear chronometer. An aged mechanical model that provides him a rudimentary means to keep time, calculate his position etc. To others it is probably considered scrap, but to him it is a cherished treasure that he prizes. He carries little or no money, preferring to get by through fortune, circumstance and skill. He relies on whatever is around him to make use of and survives mainly through ingenuity or resolve.

What does Samuel do for money? Well, for starters; he hasn’t managed to endure his life on the road this long without picking up a wealth of tricks and wayward wisdom. When he has a need typically he engages in whatever means he has to. Whether that is him peddling tales or poetry for a hot mug, tricking traveling tradesmen out of a few coins, all the way down to patching a modest merchants malfunctioning motor.

What motivates Samuel to wander like he does? Consider the fact that he has never known a home other than the road. Then add in the element of his ever-following misfortune – which inevitably casts a lingering shadow of doubt on one Samuel Stormcrow. Together you have a recipe for a never-ending supply of cold welcomes and rude rushes to emphasize Samuel hurriedly move along.

But what brings him to his current stop; being the setting of the story? Perhaps during his last visit somewhere a report was made that named him as a wanted individual in a crime/investigation. Even though the matter was settled, due to the nature of events that transpired the report was never updated. That being the case, he is picked up by a bounty hunter and escorted back to the nearest outpost with a stationed official to claim his reward.

Each question I asked myself allowed me to shape some answer to further form a foundation for the story. Your mileage may vary but for me I find talking it out with myself by writing my thoughts down to be quite valuable. Hope it helps you, and if you want to share your own thoughts on the matter – or any of your own tricks feel free to comment. Everyone has something to share or teach that can help others improve. What helps you?

Some Stories Are Hard To Tell For A Reason.

I've been making up little stories, spinning fabricated fantasies in one form or another since I was quite a young man. At first I did it without realizing it; telling myself little elaborate daydreams I could imagine while playing. Over time though, I was introduced through school to the notion of writing them down. Which eventually led me to refining them - at first for my yearly portfolio for class and later for myself.

And in all that time I cannot stress to you one very unmistakable truth that even now haunts me; some stories are just hard to tell. It may be a wonderfully glorious idea in your head. Maybe it was a gripping action scene that set you off to develop further. But at the end of the day, despite all your best efforts, you find yourself struggling to make it work.

It happens. Not every story is a gleaming gem that just rolls right out of your mental manufacturing center. Sometimes you just can't quite get the protagonist's tone just right, or maybe the character just doesn't even work like you want it to. I've even found myself working on a story under the grip of a passionate fervor only to open my eyes a short while later and realize that there was just nothing there. The scene may have been amazing, the intro a wonderful hook, or perhaps the character just dripping with detail and depth. But the plot just wasn't going anywhere, or the world around the little segment was simply absent.

Does that mean the story is not worth telling? I'm not going to lie and say that I don't have countless scraps of paper, notes or even text files that just trail off with such story shards. You might say it goes with the territory of being a writer, even if you just do it as a hobby. But that doesn't mean that those tattered would-be tales aren't worth telling.

Just because you started a story only to run into a roadblock of sorts doesn't ever mean that you should abandon it. In fact, I would wager that it is those very stories that we struggle with that slumber with the promise of elevating us towards increasing our skills. A craftsman may lack the tools or technique to complete a project the first time he attempts it, but by facing it he can identify his shortcomings and thereby begin to address them.

Actually, I had an idea for a story some many months back but due to my own lack of confidence coupled with my recent Carpal Tunnel issues I keep shelving it. I've worked up some detailed notes, tinkered with analyzing a potential plot - I've even attempted writing it's opening several times. And every time I find myself at a loss. But, you know what? I'm not going to give up. I had the idea for this tale, and I really believe that if I knuckle down and keep coming back to it that I can get a handle on it and tell a story that might just be better than I thought myself capable.

In order to do just that I'll have to get back to the core of things. First of all, you have to really know just what your story is going to be about. Where will it lead and who will it involve? To combat my own unease with starting the story it is imperative that I establish exactly who my protagonist is, their tone, traits, flaws and in general everything about them. I shouldn't be struggling with speaking for them, much less grasping at their motivations.

If you have started to write a story and find yourself having to ask things like; "What lead them to this point," or "Why are they the hero," then you need to start over. Even with a general idea of what you want the plot to be, who your hero or heroine is etc. you have got to lay your groundwork. Without some structure to build on you are only going to be fast and loose with the details. And if you, the person shaping the story, don't know where it is going you run the dangerous risk of derailing it before it begins.

So, take my advice - for whatever it's worth; plan ahead, plan some more, and then take every note you can. I know that is exactly the advice I plan on making use of. I'm going to review every aspect of my notes thus far and then start asking myself every question I can think of to refine my story. You can never have too many notes, and if you have details you don't need, characters you may not use as much or even aspects of the setting that never become necessary it doesn't hurt you by having them.

Take it Personally, Just Don’t Keep it.

Take it Personally, Just Don’t Keep it.

I think it is an almost undeniably safe conclusion to admit, that by this point, everyone has heard the age old cliché; “Don’t take it personally.” It is typically the first advice cited to anyone who might even remotely ever have to bear the brunt of some rather blunt criticism, and even more so may be one of the most reiterated lines used for comfort(even if it mostly fails in that regard).

Now, I’ve been finding myself of late with a wandering mind as I’m left with little else to occupy me besides idle contemplation. In case you’re unfamiliar, I’ll give you the condensed version; I’ve been dealing with Carpal Tunnel in my right wrist and after only just recently having had surgery I’m still what you might classify as ‘on the mend.’ As such I find myself with ample time to consider many things, primarily in an effort to preoccupy myself.

Honestly, there is only so much Solitaire you can mindlessly play before it’s starts to remind you that you’re only doing it because there is little else available to you. And while you could read endlessly there is always that nagging whisper in the back of your mind to remind you that if you do you’ll eventually exhaust what supply you have of enjoyable material. Then there is television… if you’re fortunate to find anything enticing enough to interest you on.

No, for me the habitual ritual of daily writing was an enjoyable part of my day. It was one that helped to provide me with structure and a sense of accomplishment. I won’t lie, I do miss it. But as you reflect on things, ironically enough, some issues blaze with a light of their own and just refuse to be cast aside.

To be fair; I’ve been scribbling little tales and the like for a good long while. In all that time, you can rest assured that I’ve seen more than my share of scathing reviews; I’ve been the receiver of both praise and ridicule – even silent indifference. And that is to be expected, honestly. In fact, I’ve always welcomed any form of feedback, as it helps you refine your work.

However, I have learned one little pearl of wisdom from my experiences, and even if it lacks any value to most it might resonate with some so I’ll share it here:

It is always personal.

Take it personally.

Just don’t hold onto it, try to remember to let it go.

What I mean by that is quite simply, anyone who makes something does so by placing part of them into their craft. Everything they make is personal to them. It reflects on them. Want to insult a cook? Speak ill of their food. Want to see a child cry? Tear apart the first book report or essay they attempt by pointing out every grammatical error, misspelling or improperly cited reference. It may just be a trivial thing to you, but, try as they might nobody can completely separate their selves from something they worked on.

For example; I recently stumbled on a review of the first serial-styled bedtime story I wrote for my kids. It was apparently very poorly received by the reader. In fact, the summary of the entire critic apparently only merited 2-3 very very concise sentences. The tale was little more than a novice approach to a bedtime story for small children. I believed I had clearly established it as such and even had gone on to clarify that it was, quite simply, something designed to be read to kids as young as 5-6 even. It wasn’t high brow literature meant for debate or deep meaningful contemplation. The wording, the characters, even the plot was shaped to be easy for a child to grasp, to enjoy.

A child could readily notice that at the beginning the young hero is terrified of the dark but that by the end he has grown to overcome his fear. That, while basic, is character development. The central character changed because of the events of the story. But, apparently, one issue with the story was that there was no character development.

Now realistically, I could by all accounts just ignore this person’s opinion and relegate it to something that didn’t exist to me. I could just as equally allow it to fester up inside me until it ate away and tried to turn me into some angry net-troll strolling about to lay siege to any negative comments. Neither avenue seems altogether healthy to me personally.

But what I will do is take such criticism personally – allow it to both motivate and enlighten me. I can’t please everyone, nor do I care to try. However, I can decide that next time around I’ll make it a point to approach my work with a better eye for what I’m trying to do and how well it manages to meet that goal. I can use it; help it to keep me passionate and the try to remind myself that it was just one opinion of a single soul that I have never known.

They didn’t know me either. Perhaps in the future though another will stumble on to one of my little yarns and find something enjoyable because of this. Then I can take that new smile just as personal before setting it aside and moving on. Because, it’s always personal; just don’t let it stay personal.

Gauntlet - Episode 32.

Episode 32 – Red Bull Rage

Sitting alone along a crudely crafted bench, Adrian Taurus’s bulky body radiated grave peril to anyone who dared to interrupt him. To the casual observer one might have found humor in the notion that such a notorious crime-boss could be caught in his spare time idly enjoying any manner of civilized entertainment. Nevertheless, there he sat; knee deep in thought playing a tactical game of tiles with only his self to provide both player and opponent.

The sound of rhythmic clattering footsteps approaching didn’t even merit a single flinch from his focus as he contemplated the next move to be made. But once the sound stopped and a female voice spoke a tensing of tendons flexed instantly in response. “We have some things to discuss, you and me,” Demure Devadonna began boldly.

Several steps ahead, Adrian already anticipated where this conversation was bound to lead and he didn’t like it at all. If it was good news, well, that would have been delivered with some manner of celebratory grace and expectations of reward. Even if there had been a slight stumbling; word would have been refrained from reaching him for a short time yet before he was informed through alternative channels. No, without a doubt if this dramatic damsel was the messenger then this information was sure to leave a terrible taste on his tongue.

“Spill it,” Taurus ordered impatiently. “Just get on with it and skip this play at skirting the subject before you no longer have the fortune of my attention.” Adrian’s eyes never left the board before him as he continued to systematically move and remove the various tiled pieces along either side. With each passing beat of her pulse, Demure found herself starting to tremble as she watched the plastic parts beginning to move slightly faster from the hex shaped game.

“I have just been informed that Arbiter and Dyzon are both dead, sir,” she shakily submitted. “Eris has been taken into custody and just prior to these events the wanted outlaw known as Gauntlet gunned down both Wynt and Briscole in the street.” A violent force detonated the table in front of Taurus, shock seizing Demure as she tried to rationalize what was happening before her. As she watched on, her mind recoiled from the savage display while Taurus tore everything about him to kindling.

The Red Bull’s rage was a legendary thing among the underworld; it was spoken of with nothing but complete terror by those who feared they might earn his wrath. And now here she sat as Adrian Taurus demolished anything within sight. Even the very bench he had been sitting on was flung through the air to explode in a shower of shrapnel against a stone wall.

“Incompetent, worthless sacks of wasted flesh,” Taurus growled between snorts and snarls. “One single man, one blind fool and not any of you could manage to deal with this disruptive drifter? Clearly I have over estimated the talents of the lot of you! I should have strangled you all myself instead of giving you a chance to be of use.”

Growling, Taurus turned his eye burning bright red as his frenzy overflowed. “I’ll have your hide for this, and then I’ll get this Gauntlet in my grip. His skull will shatter ever so sweetly for trying to topple me.” A scream swept straight from Demure’s mouth before a steady stream of frantic pleading followed.

“Please, I beg you, grant me the opportunity to regroup; I am sure I can repay this rogue for the both of us! He will hurt for all that he has done. I promise you, this Gauntlet will pay dearly – I owe him for Ashes, and as Mayor who else is left to keep control of your public interests? He can’t dare touch me! I can deliver him to you, I swear it, and he’ll be handed down here to you in a heartbeat.”

The fury faded, if only slightly from Taurus as he still shook from the avalanche of adrenaline. “Rook has taken up the mantle left by Arbiter, I am sure that he will blindly try to enforce the letter of the law. He’s probably already taking the vigilante into custody to send him down to The Graveyard.” Demure desperately continued to convince the undisputed overlord of the underworld of her remaining worth. She wasn’t sure that her argument was being altogether successful.  

Taurus allowed his anger to abate a little more as he enjoyed the elevated racing rate his pulse still thundered through him. His mind was already calculating various elements to the petite politician’s claims. The sidekick turned Sheriff just might make his first act one of arresting the only real outlaw left. And with the other known criminals dead or behind bars what need would there be for a gun slinging guardian? It definitely held merit, he had to admit.

“Alright,” Adrian breathed out the word with a harsh huff to punctuate his point. “But we will not again have such a conversation. Fail me once more and you will find yourself earning a deserved and deadly reward.” Crimson still colored his eyes as he grinned with a grim glee. “Go now, bring me this Gauntlet so that I might provide him with a likewise punishment he seems so fond of.”

Demure didn’t need to be told twice; on hearing the order to take her leave she did so in a shameless sprint. There was work to be done, and she still couldn’t believe how she had just avoided the Red Bull’s rage. Even if it was narrowly – second chances were almost unheard of from Taurus. The fear that she only had been given the illusion of mercy didn’t help alleviate her worries either. She could only hope that shortly this drifter would be safely deposited beneath the dirt, and this whole bleak business would be behind them. Surely placing this Gauntlet down into The Graveyard would put an end to everything, right?

Gauntlet - Episode 31.

Episode 31 – New Sheriff, New Plan

Without a single whispered word, Marshall set himself into recovering his beloved bullet-slingers. One by one he reloaded each empty cylinder slot with a quiet click as it turned. When finally he spoke, it was the somber voice of seriousness, his head still cast down at the gun in his hand.

“Where are the rest of them,” Marshall asked suddenly. “Tell me, right now – if you truly do wish for any manner of sympathy; where are the rest of your friends.” A twinge of concern shook Rook’s conscience awake as he began to worry where Marshall might be going with this. Even a criminal, once caught was subject to the right to face the law not be executed on the spot.

“Whoa, easy there ‘slinger,” Rook pleaded, his hands held before him. “Let’s simmer it down a notch a tick, alright?” Marshall made no move, his hat’s brim still cloaking his face in shadow. “If you’re asking about the other two; the Ursian and the Uraor – they split out the back as I was making my way inside. I think it is safe to say we don’t have to worry ourselves over them; we have the leaders of both gangs. One dead, the other in custody and we have removed a corrupt official from power. Isn’t that enough bloodshed for one night?”

Some distracting thought seemed to distance the grim drifter as he reached down to examine the crimson stained corpse of what only moments ago had been the Sheriff of Redemption. With his left hand he casually plucked up the blood slick badge that dangled from a scrap of cloth and held it up just enough to let the light catch it. The small shield had once been a symbol of authority, of the promise to protect. Now it was little more than a sullied trinket in his eyes.

“The town will be needing a new man for the job I should imagine,” Marshall mused, his tone still hollow and out of place. “I can’t think of anyone better for the job,” Rook admitted, a sincere smile joining the remark. But when Marshall looked up his eyes met the prismatic purple of Rook’s own and the Deputy knew full well that Marshall had never meant himself.

“Neither can I,” the deadly drifter declared and tossed the badge towards him. Rook easily caught it in his hand and regarded it, wiping clear some of the gore with his thumb. “I don’t know what to say,” he stammered shortly, working to find the words he wanted to say. “Not sure I even know how to do the job,” he confessed finally.

“You’ll do fine, trust me; I am great judge of character.” Rising once more, Marshall holstered his gun and looked from the stunned new Sheriff to the wounded warrior woman. “It is easier than you think; all you have to do is what you know is the right thing. Enforce the laws, keep your head and do your best. Just try not to forget two very simple things; justice may not always come from a judge and if you stray from the straight and narrow – you can find yourself facing a Gauntlet.”

The last comment, Rook couldn’t ignore, it made him curious and caused questions to come to mind. “What will you do now, where will you go?” Now with both of the rival bands of bandits no longer a threat to the town, there wasn’t really anything to keep Gauntlet here in Redemption. Could such a man as Marshall Lawson settle down though?

“There are others who are responsible for the problems here, those who think they are beyond punishment for the pain they cause. I think its time they discover how mistaken they truly are,” Marshall explained. “If you mean Adrian Taurus, I am sorry, but even you cannot reach him. Where he is, nobody ever comes back from; we’re talking as far down as you can go – the end of the line and just beyond. Taurus is a permanent resident of The Graveyard, he is practically already buried.”

“Well then,” Marshall announced with a chuckle. “Perhaps it is high time that I managed to get myself back into prison.” Rook had been certain that nothing else Marshall said could have surprised him by this point. After everything else they had been through, surly he was accustomed by now to the man’s madness. And then there was this; which he couldn’t honestly say which was more unbelievable – the fact he wanted to be sent down to The Graveyard or the fact that at some point he had already been on the opposite side of barred walls.

“You know, you really are a few shots shy of a full load,” Rook exclaimed. “If you get sent down there then there is no coming back, nobody to protect you. Do you understand that?” Marshall raised one eyebrow and a glowing gleam in his eye made the new Sheriff stop his speech suddenly.

“That is what makes it perfect,” Marshall countered. “There will be no one to get in my way, no one to protect him, and no where else for him to run. The man thinks himself safe in his castle, in the one place everybody believes has him kept from causing any more harm. He is hiding there, and enjoying complete absence from any manner of suspicion whatsoever. Its time for that to end I think.”

“If you ask me, you are only signing your death warrant,” Rook replied, echoing his reservations with the idea. “No worries in that regards, I know the perfect professional for the task should the need arise.” Marshall laughed once more at the mention of the macabre maiden, and Rook couldn’t refrain from enjoying the joke as well. “There is just no talking sense into you is there,” he had to ask. Still laughing Marshall easily answered with another whip of whit. “Nope and there is no beating sense into me either. Others have tried, and failed – thick hide and thicker skull I’m afraid.”

Gauntlet - Episode 30.

Episode 30 – Tarnished Badges

“This has to be some kind of nightmare, even for Newport,” Arbiter spat bitterly. The whole situation had spiraled out of control and looked to be rapidly rushing into the realm of absolute chaos. “How is it that of the two of you neither one could handle a single stranger?”

His question had almost the same impact as a braided leather whip as it stung both Eris and Dyzon’s wounded pride about as well. Already the unusual Uraor had been on edge ever since they had been contacted by her robbing rival, demanding they set up a meeting. Eris would have liked nothing more than to take out every frustration she felt in a furious frenzy directed his way. But even she could see the folly in such temperamental tactics.

As for the Bloody Bachelor himself, he consoled himself with the constant reminder that there was still a likely chance Eris could be caught at the unfortunate end of this Gauntlet guy’s guns. Taurus couldn’t possibly fault him for that one, if it just happened to occur. Could he? The Red Bull was notorious difficult to predict when it came to how he might respond to some things. Which was precisely why Dyzon desperately wanted to walk away from this whole ordeal as soon as possible, he could almost feel the breath of hounds hunting him at the nape of his neck. The thought made him shiver despite himself.

“Like you have done any better,” Eris was the first to snarl back in an avalanche of anger. “You’ve not managed to stop this dangerous drifter either,” she challenged. “And you’re the shiny shield who is supposed to keep things like this from even becoming a problem. Instead you let the man just walk off the Titan Train and into town without so much as bothering to even search him. Then all of a sudden we have a violent vigilante on the loose and the only authority in town’s great idea to handle the situation is a fancy speech. While we are dying in the streets at the hands of some campaigning crusader you are rallying sheep.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone much,” Arbiter automatically snapped in response. “Besides, while I have danced about to keep everything going smoothly all this time it wasn’t me who failed so miserably. Both of you two had him outnumbered and both of you came up on the short end if you recall.”

“Don’t you dare lump me in with her,” Dyzon chimed in, a growing agitation of his own building. “She only sent 3 piles of scrap to the heap; I had to send two flesh and blood men to the Digger Doll. The guy just got lucky is all, simple as that. However, if you had been bothered to warn us just how dangerous this man was it might have been different. For that matter it never should have happened in the first place if you’d simply done what you were paid to and arrested this fool.”

Arbiter opened his mouth to defend himself with another verbal volley, but a loud series of shattering sounds stopped him. “Dirty diamonds, what is that racket,” he cursed. The sinister Sheriff spun to face the fragmented frame of what was the warehouse’s doorway while suspicions were slung about behind him.

“This is some kind of trick,” Eris accused, using her finger to level a blow of blame towards the Bloody Bachelor. Simultaneously he snapped a slung shout her way as well. “You idiot, you have lead him straight to us!” Marshall’s bellowed bravado carried its way through the air to only further infuriate the battling bandits.

Arbiter immediately felt a surge of sadistic glee as he watched this hero walking through the doorway without a single weapon in hand. “You have a lot of guts, I’ll give you that Mister,” the Sheriff said with a smile. “But you have just reached the end of your rope; you just don’t know it yet.” Behind his back, he already had a gun in hand. This was going to be so easy, and so very enjoyable.

“Draw,” Arbiter roared, his voice resonating like a struck gong. He twisted with a jerk and swung his already drawn weapon before him to fire. In his excitement, he misjudged his aim – the Sheriff hadn’t had to engage in a gunfight in quite some time. Arbiter had allowed himself to become rather rusty, and now he regretted it.

In a fluid motion, Marshall pulled both pistols and took aim. He had been a hair faster on the draw than the Sheriff, but had opted for a well placed shot instead of a wild one. It was a decision he was delighted by the outcome when a blazing beam flew past him. Two hammer falls rang in response as he sent a pair of shots back. One slammed home into the Sheriff’s upper chest near his shoulder and sent him stumbling. The other burned its way into his gut sending a wave of sickness through him, and stealing his breath.

“Some friendly advice; doesn’t matter much if you can out draw another man and can’t hit what you aim for.” Marshall watched as the Sheriff let his gun fall to the floor, free from his grasp. Struggling fro breath his hands grabbed at his chest as blood already started to soak its way out. “You have brought disgrace to your duty, and dishonor to the badge,” Marshall explained with icy venom.

“Get him,” Dyzon and Eris cried in chorus as the charged past the fading form of Arbiter. Marshall snapped off another rapid fire staccato song of shots that thudded their way into his opponents. Several caught the Uraor with fearsome force only to be met by her body’s uncanny ability to recover from damage quickly. Already the wounds were beginning to close.

Another blast took Dyzon from behind and to the side as it dropped him to the ground to cut his rushed assault short. Scrambling, Marshall dropped his Tamel’s and grabbed for the hanging hilt of the sword at his side. The light caught and rippled along the edge of the shattered blade as he brought it to bear. Eris screamed with rage as she sent blow after blow his way, a crashing wave of close-range combat.

Marshall steadied himself as his hands took their grip along the heavy blades handle and rolled his body to maximize the momentum. The sharp stub sliced through flesh like rushing water through a valley and an arm fell to the floor. A howl of pain exploded in answer and Eris fell back a step to clutch at the ruined remnants of her lost limb. Fire still burned in her eyes, but with it came a clear understanding of what awaited her if she continued.

“Mercy,” she pleaded, feeling the inherent shame the words brought forth from insider her with them. She would recover, she knew, but to die so disgracefully; that she could never haunt her in the hereafter forever. It was better to live and reclaim her pride later than to be known as a weakling by those who told of her tale.

Gauntlet - Episode 29.

Episode 29 – A Grim Gauntlet

With their booted feet drumming against the dirt Rook guided their way through town in a tireless run. At times Marshall noted that he was indeed thankful that he had made it a point to keep himself in shape. Even so, he couldn’t deny he was equally impressed with the pace his peer was setting for them.

They passed between buildings and cut through anywhere they could to follow the curious course Rook had established. Slung over his shoulder the weight of his rifle was reassuring as it reminded him of its presence, bouncing against his back. He kept a good grip with his left on the hilt of the makeshift blade that hung at his side, careful to keep it from swinging wildly about.

Another sharp turn around a corner and a quick dive to dart between a couple shacks delivered the duo even closer to the edge of town. Marshall began to notice fewer and fewer buildings now when he looked around. And of the ones he found even fewer looked to be in use – or what he would consider in any condition for use. The further out the two of them seemed to get, the more it became clear that out here everyone clung together – they needed each other.

“So, what is your plan this time around,” Rook asked, the question interrupting Marshall’s thoughts on the town. It took him a minute to collect himself, but as he considered the answer he couldn’t think of any way to put it that didn’t make him sound foolish. So he just decided to spit out.

“Nothing subtle, nothing covert; just going to walk in there and make sure I am the only one coming back out.” Hearing the words come out of his own mouth, Marshall admitted that they sounded ludicrous even to him. But the more the town seemed to disappear behind them, the more he began to realize he didn’t care. Good people had been living in fear for far too long, and they deserved better.

“Do you take special classes on strategy or do you just study lessons on the subject from lunatics,” Rook replied sharply. “You are going in outnumbered, into what might just be a lion’s den who may or may not be waiting for you to do just that. And your brilliant brainstorm is that you are going to just waltz in to wage war?”

“That about covers it, yeah,” Marshall admitted an obvious air of amusement in his voice. “Would you be expecting anything of the sort,” he asked playfully. The look on Rook’s face was one of absolute shock as it sunk in. It was like he just realized he was about to try to clip a live wire with a pair of steel scissors and someone had just pointed it out.

“You’re right,” he apologized after the stunned look slowly faded from view. “That may actually be a great plan after all. Or completely suicidal; I guess we’re about to find out which.”

 Looming before the both them still stood what remained of an old Thunder Rail storage facility. An old out of use set of tracks had already began to rust outside it, and only crumbling crates still littering along its exterior. However, somewhat out of place a strong set of doors still stood complete with a quite capable looking lock. It wasn’t anything modern by any means, not even electronic in fact.

“Before you ask,” Marshall said quietly. “Yes I can bypass that lock but now is not the time for a lecture on mechanical systems – nor do I want to waste the time in doing so. There is a reason why I call my friend here ‘Hole Maker,’” Marshall declared as he drew the rifle hanging behind him and cocked its lever. “I’m going in the front; you circle around and find yourself another way in. While I have their attention held you see if you can cover me.”

Rook hesitantly started to obey, but paused for a second with a look of concern. “And what if you don’t draw everyone’s attention? Or if they take you out before I can get into position,” he openly objected. “What then?”

“Don’t worry; I am fairly certain that I can keep their eyes on me. Besides, if anything goes wrong I am sure you won’t be able to miss it. If that happens you just do your best to get clear, understood?” Marshall waited just long enough to be acknowledged with a brief nod before he turned back towards the door and casually approached them.

Moving like he was born from the shadows themselves, Deputy Rook slipped off into the twilight his side arm already in hand. Marshall took in a deep breath and held it for a long moment as he willed the thought of just how crazy what he was about to do really was. But with the conscious effort came so many old faces again. Faces of so many people that he had passed by looking for some heroic figure who he thought would have shown up to save them at any moment. But no champion ever came; it had only ever been him there, watching out for some fantastic figure instead of doing something.

This time, he was the hero, and he was going to take action. Marshall released the air from his lungs in a long slow exhale and let his mind clear. He seized upon his purpose with iron resolve and raised his Hole Maker. “Well, here goes,” he told the empty air around him and squeezed the trigger back in a single fluid pull.

Awaiting the release of his trigger finger, the weapons arc-igniter sparked to life and sent a pulse of electric current coursing into action. Resting at the rear of both barrels a pair of caseless projectiles exploded to life as their propellant ignited at the touch and vaporized into the promise of violent velocity. Each round ripped its way down the barrel before until they both blasted angrily against the waiting door.

As it shuddered against the sudden assault, another pair of rounds rotated into position and immediately was sent flying. The lever flicked forward in a flurry as Marshall let his bullets bust the door to pieces. Once satisfied the hole he had made was big enough he slipped a few shells into the guns cylinder and holstered it as he stepped inside.

“Who’s ready to run the Gauntlet tonight,” Marshall roared. “Come on out, knock-knock; its justice come calling. Anybody home,” he goaded, daring someone to try to stop him. If anything would get under there nerves, a blatantly bold move such as this had to be right at the top of the list. He wasn’t wrong.

Gauntlet - Episode 28.

Episode 28 – The Deputy Delivers

Outside the Sheriff’s office a small boy was sitting, waiting for him as Deputy Rook approached. The small glimmer of what he could only guess was hope in the child’s eye was a warm and welcome sight. “May I be of service young man,” Rook dutifully offered, sounding every bit the dedicated Deputy.

“Is it true, sir,” the boy found his words stumbling as he tried to spit them out. He even fidgeted with his hands as he refused to meet Rook’s eyes. “I, um, I mean is what everyone saying correct; did this Gauntlet fellow really just run the Bloody Bachelor himself out of town?”

Rook had to admit there was more curiosity to the question then the usual accompanied fear he was used to hearing. But then again he couldn’t clearly recall the last time, well, anyone willingly came by the office to ask about anything official. Things in Redemption seemed to be changing; at least that much he couldn’t argue with.

“I think I can honestly say that it is true,” Rook confirmed and as he did saw a genuine grin spring to life at the news. “As a matter of fact, I just came from looking into the whole thing and my official report is that two members of the Bull-Boys will be in the dirt directly. I suppose this town might owe this Gauntlet character a debt of gratitude. That’s two gangs of late that he’s single handedly handicapped, and I’d wager if we give him a little more time he might just finish the job.”

There was an almost visible glow to the boy after that, he almost bursting with excitement. “Yeah,” he exclaimed with a sudden hop. “Gauntlet is so great, I bet the Red Bull himself is going to be scared of him!” And as fast as his little legs could carry him the boy took off, obviously eager to share the news.

Rook was still shaking his head and enjoying the kid’s excitement when he entered the office. But as he made it to his desk something nagged at him, a troubling tickle that he couldn’t quite place. A quick glance around the place didn’t really provide anything immediately out of order but the feeling remained. There was something wrong, but what?

The Sheriff had sent him off to check up on the reports of another incident in town while he himself looked into another matter. But apparently he had made it back before the Sheriff. An examination of Arbiter’s desk though told another tale; it spoke volumes that not only had the Sheriff returned but that he had left again in a hurry. Papers were ruffled and left in a mess, not to mention the fact that his keys were missing. And when he looked in the drawer he immediately noted the empty space where he usually kept his gun. Another was missing from the rack along the wall as well.

“What are you up to,” Rook asked aloud as he considered what possible course of action his boss might be up to. The only clue he could find was the hastily scribbled coordinates for a location just outside the edge of town. And there was only one reason he could figure for Arbiter to be interested in visiting such a place; he had to be going to meet with one or possibly both criminal crews.

“I’ve got to warn Marshall,” Rook decided and headed for the door. And the first place he knew to check was the General Good so he would start there. As he headed off to warn the wily warrior he had to appreciate the humor involved in his choice of residence. Even at a time like this it never did hurt to laugh a little.

♦♦♦

A lone lit lamp greeted Marshall when he slipped inside the shop. Accompanying it was the familiar fresh scent of gun oil that lingered in the air. Patiently perched behind the counter was Grandma Grael herself, a steaming mug before her and a wiped down weapon laying well within reach. 

“You had yourself a visitor,” she offered quietly. As if the evening hadn’t already been interesting enough, Marshall reluctantly raised an eyebrow and decided to ask the question he was sure she was simply waiting for. “Now who would want to stop by and pay a visit to little old me, I wonder?”

Grandma Grael fixed him with a stare that made him catch his breath a moment and fall silent as a school boy. How did she do that, he started to wonder and then immediately cast the quandary aside. Something was different; her trademark friendly demeanor was strangely absent. And in its place was a somber seriousness that was altogether unsettling.

“Arbiter stopped by the shop and decided he would just try his luck throwing his weight around,” the little lady explained calmly. “The jury is still out on whether or not I was too easy on him, to be fair. But in the end he did turn tail and run for all he was worth.”

Another look at the shotgun atop the shop counter confirmed that she was deadly serious. “Before you settled here and started this shop…” Marshall found himself beginning to ask before he quickly changed his mind. “That was another time,” Grandma Grael answered anyway. “And needs not be brought up presently, but you mark my words; that boy will be up to something if he isn’t already.”

“I am afraid that she is right, unfortunately,” Rook added as he revealed himself from behind Marshall. “I didn’t know he had planned to come here looking for you to begin with but now he has disappeared while I was away from the office and it doesn’t look too good. All I have to go on is the fact that he left armed and some coordinates to a place just outside town. I am afraid he may be on his way to meet up with some of those folks who aren’t exactly fans of Gauntlet.”

Somehow, quite surprisingly without meaning to Marshall realized that he might just be watching events unfold according to his plan. Even if he hadn’t quite worked out how to have directed them that way himself, he welcomed any manner of good fortune in that regard. With all his enemies possibly gathering together now was the perfect opportunity to try and take advantage.

“Let me grab a few things and then you can point me in the direction of this meeting spot,” Marshall mentioned. He didn’t bother to wait for the Deputy to respond, or try to object on the matter before he headed for his room. There was no need to waste time debating what would suit his needs or be the best option for the task at hand. Marshall didn’t need a second thought; he went straight to his gear and grabbed exactly what he was looking for.

It only took a moment to confirm that his ‘Hole Maker’ and ‘Scavenger’s Shard’ were ready to be put to use. For good measure he snatched up a few extra handfuls of shells and strapped on a couple extra bits or gear – just in case. Within minutes he returned back downstairs and declared; “let’s get to work.” Without another word he and Rook tipped their hats to Grandma Grael before vanishing back out the door. And a little old lady raised her mug in salute before resting her other on the handle of her gun. It was about to be a long night, and she had no intention of missing a minute of it.