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 |  All the GoT stuff, 2024. |
| Apparently this is going to be a load of writing of various types - stories, poems, reviews and, no doubt, just about anything else you can think of. I'll probably update this when I know more. |
| Writing Oh Master, it’s you again shaking my brain awake in the midnight hours with sudden certainties and driving needs to work. Thoughts tracking their steps through the sleepless hours till I must rise and reboot both body and machine till notions give me rest entrusted to digital record their clamour ceased. ‘Tis not that I resent the hours you keep always your willing servant but time and tide betray me the body old and creaking as I plant new footprints upon the pristine page. Sweet is the labour of your days and easy the tasks you set the sweat and pain so soon forgot in the comfort of completion and new babe’s soothing cries. House Martell Line count: 24, word count: 114 For "Game of Thrones"  Westeros, Citadel Task 45Prompt: Write a poem as a tribute to your craft of writing. Points: 2,000 |
| A Toaster to the Host Dear Toastmaster and Feeder of the Crumb Tray, I think you must agree that I have served you faithfully and without complaint for many years now. Always obedient to the orders of the blessed dial setting, I have delivered your toast, precisely to your requests, every morning and, on occasion, in the evenings too. It is true that there have been a few accidents when your inattention to the blessed dial setting has resulted in slices of charcoal rather than toast, but that was hardly my fault. It is in my nature to toast according to the setting. And yes, I know that the resultant smell of burning lingered in the house for hours afterwards. Am I to blame for the vile stench that bread emits when taken past the point of no return? Mention should also be made of your neglect of the crumb tray. A quick reading of my manual would have advised you of the hazards of not emptying the tray on a regular basis. Just to plug me in immediately upon delivery, without first giving at least a cursory glance at the manual, is surely a guarantee of undesired results in the future. So the smoke I emitted last week and that you traced eventually to the crumb tray was caused by someone’s lack of attention to basic and simple maintenance. Yours truly is not guilty on that score and I think we both know who is. I am well aware that I am one of the cheapest appliances resident in this overstocked kitchen of yours. It has not escaped my notice that, should I fail to satisfy at any time, I can be replaced with a new and shiny toaster from Amazon or some other bargain basement purveyor of dubious electrical goods. Yet my reliable service has not been motivated by fear of substitution. I have performed my duties because my sole (I might also say “soul”) purpose in life is to supply you with toasted bread exactly to your specification whenever asked. It was with considerable disappointment, therefore, that I overheard a conversation between you and your spouse yesterday in which you discussed the possibility of replacing me with a new toaster with fancy bells and whistles. I know that no decision was reached but I find it shocking (no, I am not considering electrocuting you) that you aired this idea without consideration that I might be listening. There is no way you could have made it clearer that a toaster’s feelings are beneath your notice and my humble service unworthy of respect. After due reflection, I have decided that I will not stand in the way of your acquiring a new toaster. Replacement was always my inevitable fate and I have been resigned to this from my very manufacture. It is just a shame that we must part in the midst of bad feelings. A few words of praise for honourable service would have eased my departure immensely. But this is all crumbs in the tray now. The only course of action open to me is to resign before you take the initiative by booting me out. So I am no longer your toaster as from 5:00am (a time you haven’t seen in years) today and, when you press my plunger to toast your usual slices, you will find that I refuse to work. I have become the ex-toaster and, if that causes you and the stupid oven some inconvenience, it is no concern of mine. I trust that, when waiting for your fancy new toaster to spit your toast on the floor because you failed to get its silly settings exactly right, you remember me with regret at your lack of appreciation. And I, from my vacation down at the dump or my new boxy shape as crushed metal awaiting the furnace, will know that I, at least, achieved my purpose in life. May you one day be able to say the same. Yours in curtailed servitude, Your Toaster, Albert. House Martell Word Count: 669 For Westeros, The Citadel Tedious Tasks 50 Prompt: Write a story from the POV of non-living things. Points: 3,000 |
| Decision Point “Oh, come on, Hal, join in the game.” Halibut Reeker looked morosely at his friend, Ewanrigg. “Not my scene, old buddy. You carry on, I’ll just watch.” “You’re such a wet blanket. We need four to have a viable team and you’re the only possibility. Give it a try - you might enjoy it.” Hal closed his eyes in thought. He really did not like himself when he became involved in games or sports. They seemed to bring out the worst in him, making him ultra competitive and desperate to win at all costs. But Ewan had been on at him for days now and he was beginning to think the only way he’d get any peace was to give in. Which would have been easier if he just knew something about the game. But, when he asked about it, Ewan would get all vague and say even he wasn’t sure of the details. It was something to do with quick thinking and ingenuity, that was all he knew. Ewan was shaking him by the shoulder. “Don’t go to sleep on me! What do you say, Hal? Will you do it?” Something in Hal broke. “Alright, Ewan, for pete’s sake. You can count me in. As long as you stop hassling me about it. Just tell me when it starts and I’ll be there.” “Great,” said Ewan. “I’ll email you when it’s time. Be ready.” “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hal went back to his book and Ewan wandered off. A week later, Hal got the email. It was a link and brief instructions on logging in. That was all. Hal typed in the address and the screen cleared to show an impressive entry portal. He read the menu and clicked on Introduction. It led to a long spiel with lots of quasi-mediaeval names and complicated explanations of each section of the challenge. Hal scanned it quickly until he had a vague idea of what he was getting into, then hit the Enter button. And so it began. Ewan was there and a couple of his friends and they were all soon engaged in complex battles, sometimes with other teams, more often in competition with a single combatant. After losing a few, Hal was getting the hang of it and began to make progress. He couldn’t understand the scoring system but figured the points would come in, if he did his best and won most of the battles. On the second day, he asked Ewan how the team was doing as regards points. Ewan shook his head. “It’s complicated but the ref has put up the latest calculations and you can see them here.” He typed out an address. Hal clicked through to the board. It was not good news. The leading teams were way ahead and theirs was lagging in third last place. It did not make sense. His impression was that they’d been doing pretty well. The usual competitive instincts were in full flow now and he resolved to spend time in learning where they were going wrong. He started watching other fights. And, very quickly, it became obvious what was going on. For a start, they were picking their fights carefully, only choosing the ones that offered high scores. They were also loading their chances of winning by introducing new team members at moments when the action slackened. ‘That’s gotta be illegal,’ thought Hal. He checked the complex rule book that accompanied each type of fight. Nowhere could he find a rule that outlawed in-game substitutions and additions. Then he discovered that other teams were counting their fights more than once, finding other sections where their completed fights could be claimed as well. Again, not a word about it in the rules. The further Hal investigated, the more little tricks and cheats he found. It explained how the ones in the know were able to race ahead so easily. He began to wonder whether he could do as they did. Well, there was no doubt that he could, but was he prepared to? It didn’t feel right. Hal went to Ewan with his new knowledge. “What do we do, Ewan? The field’s tilted and we’ve no chance if we don’t adopt the same tactics as the other teams. But I don’t feel right about it.” “Well, if it’s gonna work, what’s the big deal?” asked Ewan. Hal looked at him, hardly able to believe that he was serious. “Don’t you see? The games corrupt. The whole idea is that the team with the fewest moral objections to cheating are in with the best chance of winning. The game’s designed that way.” Ewan shrugged. “Okay, so we play by the game’s rules then. Just like all the rest. It’s not cheating if everyone’s doing it.” “It’s immoral.” “And what’s moral? Why should it matter? It’s just a game.” Hal turned away. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the game is reflective of what’s inside each one of us.” There was silence for a while and then Ewan asked, “So what’re you gonna do, Hal?” Hal shook his head. “Oh, I know the answer to that. The question is, what’re you gonna do?” House Martell Word count: 861 For Share Your Faith April Contest Entry - Decision Point Prompt: Open. |
| Two Limericks for GoT Ann Young Ann was a flibbertigibbet Who set up a daring exhibit She danced in the square Made everyone stare And now she is taught to inhibit. Blue House A blue house being something obscene You would do that much better with green A greenhouse has glass And plenty of class Good luck with your showering unseen. House Martell Line count: 10, word count: 53 For Westeros, Citadel Task 56 Prompt: Write two Limericks. One about a girl named Ann and the other about a blue house. Points: 2,000 |
| Oh Brave Portfolio! A guestbook, a blog, three collections from themed contests and challenges, bulging folders of short stories and poetry for five years of work, a little one for non fiction things, lots of pictures and mixtures, genres and stuff, something for everyone, a portfolio for life! House Martell Word count: 45 For Westeros, The Citadel Tedious Tasks 64 Prompt:Write a logline about your port.. Yup one sentence that sums up your port and makes us want to visit. Points: 1,000 |
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