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The Bibliotheca


Coming Soon to a Kindle Near You . . .

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , in Wordsmithery Jan 10 2013 · 1,016 views

I have an announcement that's going to make Kraggh vomit a modicum in his mouth, tear out his hair, and weep uncontrollably for the lamentable prospects of the written word. And while this bit of news may strike terror into the hearts of some, I could probably name a greater number who will be pleased, perhaps a few who would even be thrilled.

What am I leading up to?
Nuile wrote a novel.
And he's publishing it.
(Coming 1/12/13)
Posted Image

Pattrick Clayton is a farmer in a somnolent Lancaster town, affable, charming, loved by all. Since his father died, and since he came out of the Great War alone, he has struggled to come to terms with the death that plagues him. It only becomes worse when, to add to his grief, his aunt is found dead in her home. Not a year has passed since the armistice, and the beloved town gossip has been poisoned--and to all appearances, she poisoned herself.
Pattrick can't believe it any more than the rest of the Claytons, whatever the police say. Investigations continue, but before anyone can make up their mind, another death strikes the family, this time even closer to home. And, this time--it's murder.
From the nearby city of Philadelphia comes retired private inquiry agent, Leo Westmacott. At first he's only an old family friend come to pay his respects; but duty is a difficult thing to avoid, and soon he's playing the role of sleuth once again. Now he has to readjust himself to the detection game and get to the bottom of these murders. The complaisant Pattrick Clayton agrees to help, and soon they are joined by Leo's dependable secretary, the charming Miss Slaytor. The deeper they inquire into the lives and minds of the people of Mockingbird, the more they realize that life is no more innocent, no more docile, and no less dangerous in the country than on the backstreets of Philadelphia.
Filled with vivid characters, flavored with heart, and steeped with wisdom, The Second Death is more than a study in murder and mystery but in loss, family, friendship, and death itself. A vivid cast of characters will light your way along an ingenious maze of secret and deception while the secretive Leo Westmacott will leave you completely in the dark until the final moment.
And this is but the first in a series of detective novels. You can expect to see more of Leo Westmacott and his assistants in the nigh future. In the meantime, I hope that you'll all take advantage of the .99 cent trial period, read and enjoy the book, and then lend me your advocatory but critical rhetoric in some objective reviews. If you can be patient, however, I encourage you to wait for the five-day promotion during which you may "purchase" the novel absolutely free, January 26th through the 30th. And I won't lie and say that I don't hope some don't notice this until the 31st or later, when the price will stabilize at $2.99.
(Sales, of course, will be through the Amazon Kindle Store.)
Be sure to tell all your friends, relatives, hairdressers and sanctimonious literature teachers [s]after the 30th in time for the promotion!
And hey, have any questions? Ask away!

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:



Sanguine Goodbyes

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 245 views

And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012:

Sanguine Goodbyes

I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today.
I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did.
But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long.
Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it.
I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut.
And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times.
And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think.
And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end.
When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now.
So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed.
So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her,
"At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!"

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Year in Review

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 370 views

And now, my friends, the time has come to ponder what this past year has been to my life.
It has been one of the longest years of my life, and one of the most difficult, but I cannot call it the worst. Nor can I call it the best. It was not bad, and it was not great, but it was good. There are many things upon which I can look back with joy, and those which I can look back upon with remorse, as well. That's life, though.
I've changed so much in the past year. I guess that's what happens in twelve months. But these twelve months especially. Probably I've learned more in the past year than I ever have in the space of a year. Likely I have undergone more alteration than I ever have in such a period. Possibly all this is true. But of one thing I am sure: in this past year more than ever, I have ameliorated.
I look back at last January and I just feel like slamming my face into my desk. In fact, I think I will. Ouch. Okay, that's done.
Reading over my journal (something all writers should keep) I wonder who that fool could have been who wrote some of the thoughts there placed, in all their obtuseness, where they will forever have posterity in my memory. Hard as I may try to forget that time, I will always keep my idiocy there to remember. Oh, not that I was an cool dude, at any rate not much more than I am now. I am, in many ways, the same person I was then. When I look back at writing style, for instance, little has changed there, bar maybe a few improvements and perhaps even a few degradations--and little, I positively believe, tells more about a person than what they write and how they write it. But in one way I was very much a fool; in one way I made a mistake I have not yet been able to live down.
Now the subject is decidedly personal and I am sorry that I must be vague. I can but say that, some fifteen months ago, I wronged some one quite close to me. Be assured it's not nearly as serious as it sounds; only to me. Not even to they whom I have wronged, I think, does it matter as much as it does to me. I know this sounds illogical and probably does not make much sense; even if I elucidated the situation in minute detail you would still see it that way. Possibly you're right, but that can't change how I feel about what I've done, can it? Maybe I'm being irrational--no, I confess it, I am. But maybe this isn't the place for rationality.
Dispensing with these recondite adumbrations, I think I will pursue the more tangible thread of thought I have extricated from the tangle. Rationality: Is it really so important?
No, I don't think it is. What it comes down to, I think, is prudence. That seems to be the only ubiquitously foolproof answer to any question: prudence. Not reason exactly, not logic nor rationality, but the prudence to decide when and which of these to apply, or when to resort rather to one's faith, another's wisdom, or one's own heart.
To put it succinctly I will quote myself, or rather my intelligent friend Reise: "Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail."
The greatest difficulty is in finding a complex solution to a simple problem. Maybe my difficulty is in looking for one. Maybe it is a simple solution I should be seeking!
But, well, that's neither here nor there, is it? That's all in the past. And what I am to do now--that's probably been boring you, has it not? It is my philosophy not to allow myself to be absorbed in what is done and unchangeable. For to do so is to forsake the opportunity to actively carve the future. When I make a mistake, I learn from it and move on. When I fall, I pick myself and keep walking.
I'll trip again, there's no doubt about that. It can't be helped! One of the most foolish things a person can do is to fear the future because it holds unpredictable hazards. These same people are usually the nostalgic types, too. To yearn what is lost and fear what is to come--this is absolute folly. Natural, perhaps, but folly. We must learn from the past; we must look to the future; but we must live in the moment!
This is New Year's Eve; a time to look back. So I allow myself the time to do so. Tonight will be a time to enjoy the moment. And tomorrow will be a day to look to the future! 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Year in Review: Writing

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 396 views

The Year in Review: Writing
In brief calculation I have written upwards of fourty short stories during 2012, most of which were flash fiction, some of which climbed above five thousand words.
In the Jungle, which I assure you is not a songfic based off "Wim-o-weh," is my top choice for the best short story I wrote this year. As far as story, it has been compared to Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and I myself compare it to Tarzan of the Apes in an inverted way. As far as style, it's been complimented as containing some of my most beautiful prose, and I am much inclined to agree. But I'll stop patting myself on the back; you're welcome to judge for yourself, if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the brief synopsis: Hahli gets lost in the Le-Wahi jungle. But, oh, there's so much more to this BIONICLE romance, and it's sequel, I Am the Jungle. And I'm still patting myself on the back, aren't I? Heh, yeah, sorry.
Polychromatic Frowns was not only metaphorical, philosophical, and encouraging--at least to me--but I had a darn good time writing it, too. It's little over 500 words, so if you're feeling down, I think you would enjoy it. You don't have to review it or even comment on it.
What else did I write this year? Well, not much, I guess. Only a thirty thousand word novella--The Last Avatar--and two novels, one of eighty-five thousand words, the other of seventy thousand. These last are not available to read . . . yet. And lastly, I wrote twenty thousand wirds of a third novel this month.
Any regrets? . . . Nah, I think I'm pretty happy. I'm a writer, and I feel like one; I'm not only content with that, not only happy with it, not only satisfied, but I should say I'm pretty ecstatic about my passion.
"No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." - Samuel Johnson
I think the entire Ambage will join me in agreeing that this is probably true. Although I might paraphrase . . .
"No creature but a lunatic ever wrote, except for lucrative remuneration."
Indeed. That about sums it up.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Year in Review: Reading

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , in Wordsmithery Dec 31 2012 · 747 views

In checking my notes I found, rather to my disappointment, that I have read little over twenty novels in the past year. Not a very significant number at all, and not a very satisfying one, but there you go. Nothing can be done about it now! The past cannot be changed. But that is the point of this reflection, is it not? Evaluating the past to better plan for the future.
To Kill a Mockingbird is easily the best novel I've read this year. I believe I already reviewed it some months ago in early October. The vitality, realism and warmth of her characters and story are such as to be irrefragibly lauded, and to leave the reader wishing Harper Lee had not started and ended her career in the same novel, though it is certainly a more than respectable accomplishment for one writer.
Free Air was one of the first books I read this year and I loved it. I saw some of myself and my life in the characters and the story, which is always one of the reasons any reader likes a book. Moreover, this is one of the sweetest, most charming romances I have ever read. Sinclair Lewis's style is engaging, his portrayals of the characters and emotions vivid and even poignant. I am not unemotional but I am stoic, and am not easily moved to laughter, nor to tears, and it is one of the greatest comments I can pay an author that he moved me to both.
Now, this may sound strange to you, but Tarzan of the Apes was highly redolent of Free Air for me. The latter was was written in 1919 while Tarzan itself was written in 1914, and thus they share a not dissimilar era. But their real resemblance is in the romantic story. It was very touching, even heartbreaking. Otherwise this story has some of the most thrilling action that can be found in literature of more than a hundred years in antiquity, in the midst of beautiful descriptions of the jungle, its denizens, and its enchantments. The depths of the psyche it explores are fascinating, as well. The worst I can say is that Burroughs was no stedfast believer in the writing precept "show don't tell," which at times would have done him much good, while at others he embraced it, while at others still he defied it.
I will more briefly recapsulate some of the other highlights of my literary sallies this year. The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, was another romance that touched me; Warriors: Omen of the Stars: The Last Hope by Erin Hunter was the epic conclusion to a series I have been following for five, six, possibly seven years; The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood is a brilliant mystery; The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers, . Lastly, The Secret of Chimneys, written by the inestimable Agatha Christie, an authoress nonpareil in the mystery genre, was another brilliant work that stepped, not without keeping its roots firmly planted, out of the traditional detective fiction genre into adventure thriller territory.
Regrets! Do I have regrets? Further, I should say; apart from the paltry number of works of fiction I have read in the past year. Are there books I wish I had not read? Yes. The Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve, and both A Taste for Death and The Black Tower by P.D. James are stains in my memory that will always remind me how not to write detective fiction. It is a genre of the highest standards and the most honorable traditions; and though in modern days it has been deeply tainted, the heart that lies in the Golden Age shall always continue to beat in my own chest and in those of mystery readers and writers like myself. The Golden Age glows with such a resplendent luminosity as will never be dulled or extinguished! 
And before I conclude this entry, here's a list of some of the best short stories I've read on BZP this year:


The Son Becomes the Father



Black Diamonds

Thanks to these authors, and to all the authors of BZP who make it such a great writing community! Moreover, thanks to the BZPower staff, for your recent gift of Off Topic Culture. All of you make the BZP libraries a great place to write.
Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Year in Review: Television

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 247 views

I don't watch much television, and this year has held little broadcast significance for me. However, those ways in which television was meaningful to me were especially meaningful, so I will make note of them.
This year I was introduced by my best friend to The Legend of Korra, with which I immediately fell in love. I began watching Avatar: The Last Airbender posthaste, and well before Korra had run its whole season I had beheld the grand spectacle that was the Last Airbender finale. This is a great television series that will always hold for me a meaning deeper in comparison to most shows for its connection with the aforementioned friend--the same friend, by the way, for whose birthday I wrote The Last Avatar. I advertise shamelessly.
Sherlock was recommended to me by the same friend, as it happens, though everyone else I know advocates the same opinion in its favor, and I don't find it difficult to see why. When it comes to mystery television I doubt if I've ever seen better. These are not "whodunits," which are my preference, but which are not in the vein of Doyle, anyway. I don't believe I've ever seen a very good television "whodunit" anyway, and I feel that maybe if they are not literary they are best avoided. But I digress. Sherlock, while being quite unique in its own right, while breathing a fresh and modern breath into the classic characters, also adheres surprisingly well to Doyle's original vision of his characters and stories, and the writers are well to be commended.
The Dick Van Dyke Show remains to be the best and greatest television show I have ever seen, not only for its transcendence in comedy, but for a simple love of the characters and the romantic relationship between Robert Petrie and his wife, Laura. This year has introduced me to a number of episodes I have never before seen, including "To Tell or Not to Tell," "Teacher's Petrie," and "Never Bathe on a Saturday," some of the best of the series.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


I Ask You: Synopsis Options

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , in Bibliophilism Dec 28 2012 · 504 views

I'll go into greater, more specific details re the purposes of this, which should be essentially self-explanatory, but for the moment I'd like to ask you guys a favor. I merely ask you to look at these two synopses I've drafted and elect your preference. Mix and match if you wish, share your thoughts, let me know if it's the type of synopsis that would entice you to read a book. Thanks!
Mockingbird was a drowsy town in rural Lancaster Pennsylvania, a place where nothing ever happened and nothing ever changed. It was a place where the farmers tilled their fields and milked their cows, and their troubles began with bad weather or ill livestock and ended at the local bar. That's what it was.
Now it's a town left ravaged by death. In the wake of the Great War, young veteran Pattrick Clayton has only begun to readjust to the tranquility of farm life when death intrudes once again. Madge Emig, beloved town gossip and Pattrick's own aunt, has died. As reluctant as the Claytons are to believe it, all signs point to suicide. Even while the already broken Clayton family grapples with this new grief, death strikes again, even closer to home. And this time there is no question: it's murder.
When Private Inquiry Agent Leo Westmacott arrives in town, duty calls him to dig strife up by the roots and restore peace to Mockingbird. Joined by his secretary and the eager Pattrick Clayton, he delves deeper into the lives and minds of the people, unearthing secrets and deceptions that prove even the lives of countryfolk may not be as simple as they appear.
A mystery novel that follows all the conventions of the detective fiction genre yet stands in a category all its own, The Second Death takes you on a tour in an era where times may have been different but people were not. Memorable characters will guide you along the way as you explore the roots of faith and fathom the shadowy regions of death to discover the secrets at the depths of the human psyche on a journey fraught with wit, wisdom, and mystery. 
When Pattrick Clayton's father died, he didn't know how life could go on. With the coming of the Great War he thought surely the world would stop spinning. When he came out of the army without the brother who had led him in, he wondered if there could ever be escape for him from the plague of death that pursued him at every turn.
Home again in tranquil Mockingbird, Pennsylvania, Pattrick has only begun to readjust to the tranquility of farm life. Slowly peace and happiness returns to his life. Normality begins to recover from the destruction left in the wake of death.
Then it strikes again. Pattrick hasn't been home a whole year when his aunt, beloved town gossip, is found dead. All signs point to suicide. The Claytons deny it, but nothing will stop people from talking and believing what they want. Before the Claytons can even begin to recover from this new grief, death strikes again, even closer to home. And this time there is no question: it's murder.
Retired Private Inquiry Agent Leo Westmacott arrives on the scene, an old family friend come to pay his respects. But duty is a hard thing to avoid. With the aid of his secretary and the eager Pattrick Clayton, now it's up to good old Uncle Leo to seek out the truth. The deeper in the lives and minds of the people he gets and the more secrets and deceptions he unearths, the more convinced he becomes that even the lives of countryfolk are not as innocent as they appear.
A mystery novel in the classic vein that stands in a category all its own, The Second Death will guide you through a tangle of death and lies on a tour fraught with unforgettable characters, incisive wit, piercing wisdom, and secrets that might just prove that there's more to your own heart than you even realize.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Year in Review: Film

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , in Cinephilism Dec 28 2012 · 450 views

Another year of my life nearly written! And as this chapter draws to a close, it is time to review my own work, as any good writer should do.
I'll begin in superficial ways. First, filmographically.
I'd say it was a pretty good year. I've seen plenty of great films, new whether to the world or to me, or old by various definitions. Let's take a look at some of the highlights.
Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace 3D. This remains my favorite of the Star Wars saga, and the three-dimensional enhancements were highly impressive. 3D has come a long way since those blue and red paper glasses. Add "Duel of the Fates" and Liam Neeson as some of the qualities, improve the experience with the company of my best friend, and mark it as all the more special for being my own visit to the cinema in the past year, and it is very well worthy of note.
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Best movie of all time. I knew that the instant I saw it, and until another movie steps up to replace it--possibly Sherlock Holmes 3--it will keep the title. And even then it will always live in my memory as one of the greatest films of cinematic history. Moreover, the sequence that begins from the words, "A five minute game?" will always preserve a place in my heart under the honorable title of the scene.
The Dark Knight Rises. I actually saw this for the first time today. If you've seen it, there should be no question in your mind why I call it one of the better movies I've seen this year. Though I'm not particularly savvy nor interested in the area of politics, I admire this film series not only for its depth in that area but also in that of character. The morality and the realms of the human psyche explored in these movies, as exemplified by the pit sequence, fascinate me. Though I still prefer Batman Begins, Dark Knight Rises is an excellent film in its own right.
Avengers. Not a lot of depth to this one, but boy, there was some good fighting. What I especially loved about the action was that we had a bit of everything; Iron Man's science fiction, Thor's midieval magic, Captain America's hand-to-hand, Hulk's smash. There was a little philosophy worth contemplating in Loki's monologues and there was an enjoyable depth to the dispute on the helicarrier, but on the whole the point of this movie was all the great fighting.
It's Christmas, Carol! If you didn't label me as a heretic for visiting the cinema only once this year, you probably will for listing a Hallmark movie among the highlights of my year. It's a typical play on Charles Dickens's classic, in this case portraying Scrooge as a woman, the C.E.O. of a publishing house. The ghosts were all one, the revenant partner of the Scrooge, played by Carrie Fisher. Scrooge's estranged love was a writer. If you hadn't gathered, there was a strong literary theme throughout the film. It was very sweet, and the story held a personal meaning for me, not just in the many books that adorned its scenes.

We Bought a Zoo. I include this because it was a cute story with realism, drama, and profound romance.
And now to take a look back at my regrets, what I hope to improve in future years. For one, I have sworn off modern animated comic films after wasting time with Batman/Superman: Apocalypse and Under the Red Hood.
Moreover, I hope to more firmly uphold my past resolution never to waste as much as another hour of my life with the worthlessness that is the Pokemon film franchise, and to fight more fervently my siblings's supplications to join them in this gratuitous activity. From now on I listen to the full version of the theme song and then I'm gone.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


Polychromatic Frowns

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , in Wordsmithery Nov 25 2012 · 890 views
Short Story
Those crazy Ambagers are at their writing-off again. This theme was "Rainbow."

Polychromatic Frowns

Rainbows make me want to cry.

Surely you’ve seen one. Surely you’ve seen how dreary they are. They’re big frowns plastered across the sky. And their bright colors are incongruently cheerful. It doesn’t make sense. It’s illogical. Irrationality in nature makes me want to weep.

The frown itself is bad enough. It makes me want to frown. But the colors mock my woes and make me want to cry. It’s like the rainbow is frowning at me, and then pretends to be cheerful just to make me feel my own grief more keenly.

A rainbow is like a sad clown. Full of color, but woeful in disposition. It only makes it all the sadder, and even a bit scary, now, because we’re talking about clowns. Clowns are terrifying. Be honest, you’re afraid of them, too. But that’s another topic entirely.

Just the other day, for instance, I was walking along a path through a meadow. Well, that goes without saying, I suppose; I wasn’t skipping along the path. Nobody really skips. Except Dorothy. And if I drove along the path I would have given a lot of people heart attacks. If you’re the sadistic sort, you might do that; but I’m not, and I didn’t. I might have been riding along the path, of course, but I don’t know how to ride a bicycle, and I never ride anything with a mind of its own.

So I was walking along this path. The ground was wet and muddy after the rain and it was dirtying my shoes and splashing all over my nice clean clothes. I hate mud, too, but that’s another story.

I was walking along this path because I didn’t like walking through the tall grasses which always make me itch, and I can’t stand the smell of flowers, and all the bugs disturb me, and of course there could always be snakes. And you never know what could be lurking in those verdant trees, like cats or angry birds or ballerinas. Ballerinas are possibly even more frightening than clowns or bugs. In fact, they probably are.

As I say, I was walking along this path. I wasn’t feeling very happy, which I might have been, if I hadn’t been feeling so sad. It’s hard to be happy when you’re very sad. You can be cheerful when you’re just a little sad, but when you’re grievous it’s hard to be even cheerful, and you can never be happy when you’re sad, of course.

Where was I? That’s right, I was walking along the path, because I don’t like walking through the meadow; and I wasn’t feeling happy, because I was feeling sad; and I looked up. I was looking down most of the way, but it’s hard to see where you’re going when you look down, so I looked up. And I saw a rainbow. It was vividly colorful and wearing an obdurately melancholy moue.

And it made me sad.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:


The Book of the Dead

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Nov 04 2012 · 300 views

The Book of the Dead

The fading sunlight imbued the upper reaches of the bland gray stone with a gold tincture. The shadows stretched away from my window, as if running away from me.

I felt like shooting the sun. But I knew even I couldn’t make that shot.

Besides, it was behind me. I was peering across the crowded street to the rooftop garden where a young man lounged in his undergarments, reading a book. I hoped, for his sake, it was a good one, worthy of his final moments.

As I took out my gear and began setting up, I asked myself the question. If I was about to die, what book would I want to read? To Kill a Mockingbird? I laughed at the thought. There was irony in that.

Maybe a murder mystery. An Appointment with Death. One thing was certain, if I died, it would be with the grin of my last joke forever immortalized across my inert face.

Until it rotted. But that was life. And this was death.

I peered through the sight and lined up the cross-hairs. I had a perfect shot from here. Maybe I didn’t know my employer, but he sure knew what he was about. And all I needed to know was my job, the fact that my boss had money, and a few good jokes.

I waited. Through my binoculars I could tell he was nearly through with the novel. I wasn’t busy that night; I would give him time. I’d let him finish reading, then I’d kill him.

The sun disappeared and the shadows deepened. He moved only once, to turn on a light. Then he returned to his reading.

I wondered what book it was. I couldn’t make out the title. But I guess that didn’t matter. I was less curious why I was hired to kill him, but that didn’t matter either. Even if I was just a toy, the instrument in a stronger arm, I didn’t care.

I enjoyed what I did. That was all that mattered to me.

Oh, and the money. Yeah, the money. That, too.

Finally he turned the last page. His eyes roved down the page, though I couldn’t see them. Then he closed the book, closed his eyes, and leaned back, sated and smiling.

One of those books that left you feeling there was nothing more to life than that brief escape to fiction, I hoped. Because, for this fellow, there was nothing more to life.

I aimed. I pulled the trigger. And I packed up.

Time to pick up a check and then head to the bookstore.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:

Dramatis Personae


A young man with his feet on the ground and his head in the sky, and an inclination to implement the occasional headstand.

Nuile, Wordsmith

Penman of a number of BIONICLE and Neopets short stories, as well as three epics, based respectively on the aforementiond and Avatar: The Last Airbender. This writer has also penned a full-length mystery novel, a work in progress pending final revisions and publication.

More than that, the BZPower League of Authors was his brainchild, which he has developed into the Ambage with the help of Velox, Cederak and 55555. This refuge and practice arena for writers is open to all with a penchant for the literary arts.

Nuile, Bibliophile

For him to select a favorite book, or a favorite writer, would be impossible. But of the latter, he most admires Dame Agatha Christie, Wilkie Collins, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Harper Lee, C.S. Lewis, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Sinclair Lewis. Favorite books he includes in this chart:

To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

The Moonstone (Collins)

Murder on the Orient Express, Death in the Clouds, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, The Clocks (Christie)

The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Lost World (Doyle)

Out of the Silent Planet (C.S. Lewis)

Free Air (Sinclair Lewis)

The Bat (Hopwood and Rinehart)

The Nine Tailors (Sayers)

Nuile, Cinéaste

This fellow thinks the world begins and ends with Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Before its birth, however, he confesses that Sam Raimi and David Koepp's Spider-Man, Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer's Batman Begins, the Indiana Jones series, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Mary Poppins were films more than worthy of watching.

Nuile, Television Viewer

The Dick Van Dyke Show by far surpasses any television show produced prior or hence. Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver and The Andy Griffith Show are excellent series from a similar time frame. MacGyver is hard to beat. Diagnosis Murder, Monk and Murder, She Wrote are his favorite mystery series. In animation he most enjoys Avatar: The Last Airbender and its sequel; Batman: The Animated Series alongside Batman Beyond and The Batman; Phineas and Ferb, one of the most creatively funny cartoons he has ever seen.

Nuile, Cuisinier

Asian and Italian foods may be his enthusiasms, but he's not above a juicy burger or a spicy taco. As far as his own cooking, he oft gets more adventurous than his family appreciates, though when he behaves he can conjure a reason for your taste buds to celebrate. By far his favorite meal: Thanksgiving 2011, consisting of Paula Dean's Indian Succotash, Grean Bean Casserole, Orange Corn Bread, Bacon Roasted Brussel Sprouts, Coconut Biscuits, and Mashed Cauliflower and Potatoes.

Nuile, Musicologist

He pleads guilty to sheer ignorance, unworthy even of being called an amateur in this department. But dramatic scores and profound lyrics top his charts. The Impossible Dream from The Man of La Mancha and I Can Go the Distance as performed by Michael Bolton are cited as his two favorite songs, amidst much of Celtic Thunder's work.

Nuile, Gamer

Disney's Epic Mickey, the Kingdom Hearts series, and the Pokémon series are the only video games he considers worthy of notation.

Nuile, Sportsman

As fast on his feet as he is between the ears, he enjoys games of muscle and of strategy. Physically, he likes most to play football; but nothing beats a game of chess in his book.

The Art of Writing

It is my belief that a writer should be above human emotions, desires, vices, flaws; a writer should be almost superhuman, something like a monk. However, like monks, this is not an attribute that comes naturally, rather an ability that must be worked at.

More tangibly, one of the most important characteristics a writer can possess is tenacity. An artist's life is never an easy one. An artist presents themself to the world, and ineluctably there will be critics alongside the fans. But anyone who knows real love won't let it be quelled by what others think. Never give up, never despond. So maybe nobody's perfect; I'm not, and I never will be. But an artist, like a monk, is one who always strives to improve her- or himself, who never ceases to reach for the unreachable. Every amelioration is an achievement. And every day a writer achieves something merely by writing, for every word written is a word toward amelioration. If you are good, you can always be better; if you are great, you can always be greater.

What matters most for writers is that they take pride in their own own work. Ultimately your biggest fan and your biggest critic is yourself, and that's who you have to please the most. No artist truly passionate about their art does what they do for someone's approval or just to get paid. At the heart of every artist is a person who does what they do because they love to do it. I'm an artist; I'm a writer. I don't stop trying to get better, I don't stop striving for perfection--but I enjoy every step of the amelioration process, I appreciate every improvement, and I am always happy with where I am, yet always be eager about where I'm going. Writing is a journey with no destination. Writing is a quest without end. Writing is spiritual nomadism.

And it's not easy. It's frought with difficulty, trouble, disappointment, and grief--but a journey without end gives its reward not in the destination but in every step of the path.

Yet I have not even touched upon just what a writer is; which is because a writer, simply put, is everything. A writer is an artist, but also a psychologist, and a logician, a philosopher, a scientist, an adventurer, an inventor, a politician, a magician, and multitudinous others. A writer is everything because they write about everything. "Write what you know"; that's not the rule I live by. "Know what you write," that's my creed. Writers know a little about everything, and everything about a little. And when they don't know . . . they read!

That's a writer's life. It's the kind of life I love. It's a wonderful gift. A writer's life is the kind of life I live and always will live. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

January 2019

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"The problem with putting two and two together, is that sometimes you get four, and sometimes you get twenty-two." - Sam Spade, The Maltese Falcon (Dashiell Hammett)



"Virtue is the truest nobility." - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote



"Our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are within." - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote



"We derive our vitality from our store of madness." - E. M. Ciran



"Cultivate a superiority to reason and see how you pare the claws of all the sensible people when they try to scratch you for your own good!" - Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone



"Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail." - Me, Stellar Quest


"I'm like an old golf ball--I've had all the white paint knocked off me long ago. Life can whack me about now and it can't leave a mark. But a sportin' risk, young fellah, that's the salt of existence. Then it's worth livin' again. We're all gettin' a deal too soft and dull and comfy. Give me the great wastelands and the wide spaces, with a gun in my fist and somethin' to look for that's worth findin'." - Lord John Roxton, The Lost World, (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)




"Why does man create? Is it man's purpose on earth to express himself, to bring form to thought, and to discover meaning in experience? . . . Or is it just something to do when he's bored?" - Calvin, Calvin and Hobbes



"Sometimes I think books are the only friends worth having." - Susie Derkins, Calvin and Hobbes



"Mother Nature never shocks me." - Melvin Coolie
"It sure must've shocked your father and mother!" - Buddy Sorrell, The Dick Van Dyke Show



"Hey, I know what that is! That's one of those old creamation urns, they put the ashes inside." - Rob Petrie
"Ugh! I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those." - Buddy Sorrell, The Dick Van Dyke Show



"I wish I was one of those Danish doctors." - Rob Petrie
"How would that help?" - Laura Petrie
"Well, it wouldn't, except I'd be in Denmark instead of here." Rob Petrie, The Dick Van Dyke Show



"What's the big deal? Lots of people have insomnia, and you don't see them losing any sleep over it!" - Grandpa, The Munsters



"Anyone who sees a psychiatrist ought to have their head examined!" - Darrin Stevens, Bewitched



[9:26:46 PM] Aimee: it is so adorable how authors have favorite authors
[9:27:25 PM] Andrew P: You're an author. You have favorite authors. =P
[9:27:39 PM] Aimee: yes and i get to talk to them on skype all day

- A Geste of the Ambage Chat


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Some random air-head decided to be pompous and condescending and "honor" me with his approbation. I guess there's a pride of some sort in being recognized by the mentally unsound. It makes me feel special--or weird, one of those two. Thanks, Tekulo!