The Twelve Days of Spellsinger
He turned to watch the old guide latch the gates which sealed the cave entry. Not too many yards below lay a small twist in space-time. Through that inexplicable, tenuous passage could be found a land where otters talked and a certain turtle practiced sorcery, where he had battled armies of intelligent insects, ferocious ferrets and parrot pirates.
The Time of the Transference, book six
I've already referred to this, but two weeks ago yesterday I scored a bargain buying the eight novels of Alan Dean Foster's Spellsinger series as a set for five dollars. I finished the last one last night (Chorus Skating, written eleven years after the debut novel -- appropriately enough, called Spellsinger) and left a world that I hadn't revisited in book form since at least the turn of the century. The main character, Jonathan Thomas Meriwether (called Jon-Tom throughout the series) learns that in that world he's about to perform magical feats by singing and playing his guitar-like duar which comes in handy helping the talking otters, the sorcery-practicing turtle, and other intelligent creatures in this world where human beings are ... well, I'll let Jon-Tom explain it himself.
"Besides, humans are just another mammalian minority here. Even if they all went nuts and joined you, you're far too outnumbered to even think the kind of genocide you're contemplating has a chance of success."
Spellsinger, book one
And Jon-Tom in that world is especially tall for a human ... he originally ends up there courtesy of the sorcery-practicing turtle seeking an "engineer" from our world to counter this "strange new magic" the intelligent insects summoned. It's an awesome series to read, and it's also my first major introduction (that I can remember) to profanity in literature, and now that I've read the whole series through, it's really not that much nor than intense. D-word and s-word I have no problem with in what I read or hear if it's not just sprinkled through it -- especiallt f-bombs these days, which show such a lack of imagination; anyway, to me even as a late teenager reading the series (like the Star Wars movies, I started with The Moment of the Magician, book four -- through no fault of my own, it was first in the anthology I ordered at the time) it was a mite jarring, of grave dimensions to me.
Why must it always be a problem of grave dimensions? Can't we ever be confronted by a problem of lighthearted dimensions? A problem of mild dimensions? A problem requiring only simple, straightforward solutions?
The Paths of the Perambulator, book five
But returning to MY reality, working from Tuesday night after work where I left off with Jeffrey's Cub Scout pack Christmas party, the two groups of Bear Scouts -- that is, the ones Matt and I are den leaders for -- started out the meeting after all the gifts had been piled to exchange later (STAR WARS: I WILL NOT READ THE PLOT BEFORE I SEE THE FILM, BUT I DIGRESS) with skits we had prepared the last few meetings. While one scout was "climbing" a tree and the audience kept tuning back to check on him other scouts performed with an "Enlarging Machine" or as monsters who showed they couldn't intimidate "The Bravest Scout in the World" (only to be scared off when the leader presented the award) -- then the tree climber climbed higher than the highest tree!
And the other group performed the Macarena from behind a curtain, with two scouts facing outward and the other behind the curtain wearing shoes on their hands with them for two very short dancers! And on a lark I looked up the English translation for the lyrics of "Macarena" ... hm. Wednesday night I met the family at church where the carol choir the kids are in sang and read for various Christmas Carols -- like the performance of Jeffrey's scout troop, we've got it mostly recorded on Martha's tablet so we can watch it later; I got off work just as church started so I caught it mid-way through. Why oh why do my kids act shier than I know they are? They can do the math!
You say mathematics is not magic? What kind of wizard are you?
Spellsinger, book one
The next two days seem to be the big eating days approaching Christmas ... well, before the big day of feasting, you know. Before going to work this morning I stopped in at our credit union where from ten to two they served hot apple cider and a plethora of cookies that I helped myself two and got a few for Martha as well, and tonight at the bowling alley all the leagues are holding their Christmas parties where I'll bring the kids to with me after I get off work and pick them up from their uncle Allan and aunt Lesa's. I really really won't eat too much I promise. Especially since for this time of year I don't have to shovel through snow up to my thighs, yet. What a winter.
There was an imperceptible vibration. "Some folk might invent a legend or two to explain 'em."
"Let them." Jon-Tom was eager to be gone from this place.
Chorus Skating, book eight
I feel gone too soon, David
The Time of the Transference, book six
I've already referred to this, but two weeks ago yesterday I scored a bargain buying the eight novels of Alan Dean Foster's Spellsinger series as a set for five dollars. I finished the last one last night (Chorus Skating, written eleven years after the debut novel -- appropriately enough, called Spellsinger) and left a world that I hadn't revisited in book form since at least the turn of the century. The main character, Jonathan Thomas Meriwether (called Jon-Tom throughout the series) learns that in that world he's about to perform magical feats by singing and playing his guitar-like duar which comes in handy helping the talking otters, the sorcery-practicing turtle, and other intelligent creatures in this world where human beings are ... well, I'll let Jon-Tom explain it himself.
"Besides, humans are just another mammalian minority here. Even if they all went nuts and joined you, you're far too outnumbered to even think the kind of genocide you're contemplating has a chance of success."
Spellsinger, book one
And Jon-Tom in that world is especially tall for a human ... he originally ends up there courtesy of the sorcery-practicing turtle seeking an "engineer" from our world to counter this "strange new magic" the intelligent insects summoned. It's an awesome series to read, and it's also my first major introduction (that I can remember) to profanity in literature, and now that I've read the whole series through, it's really not that much nor than intense. D-word and s-word I have no problem with in what I read or hear if it's not just sprinkled through it -- especiallt f-bombs these days, which show such a lack of imagination; anyway, to me even as a late teenager reading the series (like the Star Wars movies, I started with The Moment of the Magician, book four -- through no fault of my own, it was first in the anthology I ordered at the time) it was a mite jarring, of grave dimensions to me.
Why must it always be a problem of grave dimensions? Can't we ever be confronted by a problem of lighthearted dimensions? A problem of mild dimensions? A problem requiring only simple, straightforward solutions?
The Paths of the Perambulator, book five
But returning to MY reality, working from Tuesday night after work where I left off with Jeffrey's Cub Scout pack Christmas party, the two groups of Bear Scouts -- that is, the ones Matt and I are den leaders for -- started out the meeting after all the gifts had been piled to exchange later (STAR WARS: I WILL NOT READ THE PLOT BEFORE I SEE THE FILM, BUT I DIGRESS) with skits we had prepared the last few meetings. While one scout was "climbing" a tree and the audience kept tuning back to check on him other scouts performed with an "Enlarging Machine" or as monsters who showed they couldn't intimidate "The Bravest Scout in the World" (only to be scared off when the leader presented the award) -- then the tree climber climbed higher than the highest tree!
And the other group performed the Macarena from behind a curtain, with two scouts facing outward and the other behind the curtain wearing shoes on their hands with them for two very short dancers! And on a lark I looked up the English translation for the lyrics of "Macarena" ... hm. Wednesday night I met the family at church where the carol choir the kids are in sang and read for various Christmas Carols -- like the performance of Jeffrey's scout troop, we've got it mostly recorded on Martha's tablet so we can watch it later; I got off work just as church started so I caught it mid-way through. Why oh why do my kids act shier than I know they are? They can do the math!
You say mathematics is not magic? What kind of wizard are you?
Spellsinger, book one
The next two days seem to be the big eating days approaching Christmas ... well, before the big day of feasting, you know. Before going to work this morning I stopped in at our credit union where from ten to two they served hot apple cider and a plethora of cookies that I helped myself two and got a few for Martha as well, and tonight at the bowling alley all the leagues are holding their Christmas parties where I'll bring the kids to with me after I get off work and pick them up from their uncle Allan and aunt Lesa's. I really really won't eat too much I promise. Especially since for this time of year I don't have to shovel through snow up to my thighs, yet. What a winter.
There was an imperceptible vibration. "Some folk might invent a legend or two to explain 'em."
"Let them." Jon-Tom was eager to be gone from this place.
Chorus Skating, book eight
I feel gone too soon, David
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