‘They Say’
They say that on this eve there is a sort of magic in the air, the sort that gives a voice to all the many creatures of this world whether they dwell in the homes, farms, or all the wilds beyond. They say that on this night, be it foggy, snowy, or clear, that the barking of the dogs become wild and jubilant calls, that the mooing of the cows becomes a soft echoing croon, and the grazing deer whisper and murmur to each other in the distant meadows which are kept hidden by many a thick wood. The foxes laugh as they tumble and play while above their heads the owls bestow their hard earned wisdom to any and all who bother to listen. The chickens, alighting from their coop, gossip in the night as they scratch at the ground and the barnyard cat scoffs at their candor but goes off, none the less, to spread the rumors he hears. Within the house, within its walls, the mice are singing a lullaby, their voices so soft that only the keen ears of the bats in the attic can hear them and those winged creatures take flight, echoing the tune. All this night is alive with these voices though few are awake to hear them for while all the many creatures of this world are up and chatting at this time which comes but once a year, granted voices of their own, we are in our beds, waiting for sunrise, waiting for morning to come, when the turn will be our own to know the magic they say is on this eve. They say and so “good night” I bid you as I close my eyes within my bed and leave this eve to those who better know its voice and magic then I who can only claim ‘they say’.
From Old Shall a New Era Now Dawn
With a breath I reach out and with trembling limbs I grasp those golden armrests with such fervor I momentarily fear that they will snap off in my hands. The throne’s velvet cushioning is faded and worn, no longer soft to the touch, but not a single tear is evident. I chuckle as my fingers drift, brushing lightly over the fabric, reverent of the object I’ve found again though with all reverence lost for he who sat upon it an age ago.
Triumph.
It fills my chest and bursts forth from my very being, insurmountable joy.
I turn to sit, grinning, and I know that I must look absolutely mad with pleasure. I drum my fingers against those armrests as I lean back and survey the toppled room from this rediscovered throne, my throne.
So long ago he ran me out. He ran me out, unloved and uncared for, but, oh, how the tables have turned. My father, the king, with his blood soaked boots and glinting eyes is long dead. His palace, the place of my birth and ...
A woman shouts to be saved.
The corridor walls outside my apartment door vibrate with each bullet-like word shot from her mouth. They ricochet from one wall to the next until they strike my eardrum. A beat of hi-hats, snares, and toms plays. But she is the villain. I believe she is masquerading as the victim, and he sees her through striped, colored glasses. I believe she has fooled them.
The men in blue said, "Poor little lamb, who hurt you?"
But the hermit man lets her play her tricks. Who would believe a man with no wit? He chose solitude, and yet here he stands once again, bullets in his heart, for the scorned woman has played her man.
(Excerpt from my short story, Life vs. Legacy)
“You made mom cry,” she said, “I hope you’re proud of that.”
The door opened and then closed. I was alone once more.
I looked out the window I stood beside. I watched as the stars shown through space and planets reflected their light. I looked out at the darkness that could kill with such unbelievable ease and it made me wonder how we survived against such odds.
My fingers brushed over the uniform I still clutched to my chest and I could feel the fabric against my skin. It was soft and stiff all in one and I remembered being a boy and dreaming that there would come a day which I too would wear such a uniform.
I knew not what came next for my fate had always been set and suddenly I had derailed it. I was set adrift just like the rest of my species and I knew not where I would go nor what I would find wherever I went.
I was a drifter without a planet nor a purpose, lost amidst vast nothingness.
I looked at my reflection and I saw ...
As you know, Warner Brothers announced that it will be making a film called The Hunt for Gollum, directed by Andy Serkis and produced by Peter Jackson.
But…why does that title sound familiar? I was talking with a few friends about it when the story broke and someone mentioned that there was a fan film of the same name on YouTube.
So this week has been a wild one for fans of sci-fi and fantasy. Three trailers. Three shows. And three vastly different responses. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the trailer for Rings of Power S2, House of the Dragon S2, and a new spin-off series Dune: Prophecy, all dropped this week. Which offers a unique (and probably intentional) opportunity to compare the three pieces, and their subsequent shows.
So…this is not just a headline. A few days ago, Warner Brothers announced a new slate of Lord of the Rings Movies, the first of which will be The Hunt for Gollum (an animated series which predates the LOTR timeline by 200 years will also be made called The War for the Rohirrim)
Yes. I’m as confused as the rest of you. Does this mean more garbage like Rings of Power? Maybe…though not from the same source. It would be too long and, frankly, unnecessary to describe the strange division of copyright between Amazon and Warner Bros. Suffice it to say, Warner Bros. owns the rights to the main timelines about the actual characters. Amazon owns the rights to a prologue.
Now, I’m as annoyed as the rest of you. They are making more Harry Potter, more Lord of the Rings, a freaking Mufasa movie?! What happened to original Hollywood stories?
