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Posts by kilteDave

On Villainy

As you read this, I’m working toward being on the road again. We’re absconding for parts south, the littles and I. Just a few days, and eating turkey (I think we’ll be eating turkey. I’m not actually sure. I know I’ll be roasting brussels sprouts with bacon, and then mulling cranberries, for my contribution to The Meal.) So I’m writing yesterday, on some thoughts I had the night before, while listening to Matt Colville’s excellent Running The Game series of youtube videos on Dungeon Mastery. Specifically the video on playing evil player characters.
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Burn, Baby, Burn

Welcome back, again, Writerly Friends, to the posts that never end. (Huh. That could make for a catchy title to somethin’.) I want to apologize for last week. I spent most of it driving, and the other parts sleeping. More or less. Lots of barely consciousness, at least. The first day, we got a freak blizzard (probably not freak-freak, as I wasn’t paying sufficient attention to the weather) over Monarch Pass. After that, it was clear and cold, with just a few flurries through southern Idaho. Wee Dave and Wee-er Dave were fantastic traveling companions, especially for their ages, and Pop Dave was on hand to keep me alert on the drive.
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All Hallows

Hey, all! Sarah’s got things, and swears (upon souls mortal and immortal) she’ll have a post up as soon as inhumanly possible. In the meantime, it’s fandom’s favorite holy day (after Heinlein’s Birthday, pbuh)!

On the other hand, maybe it feels more like a busman’s holiday, as a professional costumer friend of mine put it, this morning. I know there’s a not-insignificant part of me that looks upon such things as an annoyance. I’d rather be working, but instead I have to spend all this time managing children, and candy, and expectations. What about you, treasured readers? Is Halloween a trick upon the working writing? Is it your Favoritest Evar Day(TM)?

Venn You Vant to Get Better at Vone Thing

I’m attempting to write this while sharing my headphones with Wee Dave. He seems to like metal. This does not displease me. Thing is. The thing is. I’m kinda contorted, here. He’s just a bit under four feet tall, and with him standing and me sitting in a chair, I have to bend sideways. In order to type, I have to reach my arm around him. And I have the background noise of the house in one ear. In all, it’s a pretty awkward way to write, despite the pleasant proximity to Wee Dave.
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Elusive Prey

The drive was long. And I’ve spent the last three days up in the Colorado high desert hills near Montrose. The first two days, we were up before dawn, climbing into extra layers and strapping on extra firearms in case we encountered bear or mountain lion (we didn’t, though I saw a coyote lope through). We wore gaiters, as the low-lying cacti have a habit of jamming needles through simple cloth (or leather) and hitching a ride you only realize when you’ve managed to jam a prickly pad into the meat of your other calf. The air that early in the morning is chill, but it’s not yet late enough in the year to be bitter about it. Still, we pushed a little as we hiked the slopes.
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On The Road, Again

-or-
Just Can’t Wait To Get On The Page, Again

I’m writing to you from the distant past, to whit: yesterday morning. By the time you read this, I’ll be retrieving Wee Dave and Wee-er Dave, and heading to the transpo hub to acquire Mom Dave. That completed, we’ll head in a direction to lodge for the night at a southerly cousin’s locale. I’m looking forward to this. I’m told there’s a yurt. From there, we’ll head in easy stages eastward through various terrain to ultimately land with Mrs. Dave’s parents at their farm of a much higher elevation. (If I push this too hard, the naming conventions are going to get obnoxious.) The littles will tromp with Grammie while Gramps and I stalk some prey. Should be fun.
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But That’s Not What I Wanted

Life in Fortress Dave proceeds apace. Like usual. Wee Dave was remanded into my care when his teachers wouldn’t have him in class anymore, ever, for a few days at least. Of course, they refused to have anybody in class, so he’s no more special than he was, but Writing Time turned into Man Time while they had professional time. What about Dave? What about Dave’s professional time? *shakes fist*
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