Food of Evandar: Meat Pies

In my world, I see people having a wide range of foods. Each culture has their own specialties and there are delicacies that can be exotic or disgusting to our palate. I get my ideas for the cusine of this world from the wide variety of foods that can be found in our world. Some of them are drawn from historical recipes and some come from the recipes that I adapt. A few of them are also based in ones that I have made myself. I try to note what makes the difference between the fantasy world's recipes and the food from our world.

On a weekly basis, I will be posting a recipe that would match something from my fantasy world. These recipes may include links to other related recipes that can be found on the internet.

Meat pies are hand held pocket pies filled with a savory meat mixture. Different regions of Evandar have different varieties within them. The recipe that I am presenting today would be typical of what you would find in Dakon-Bar. (Dragonwood Forest is part of this region.) The abundance of deer is what gives this meat pie its filling. In Evandar, the meat would be minced very fine before cooking. Obviously, we can have ours ground. It makes for less labor.

If you want an 'accurate' version and you decide to mince your venison prior to cooking, consider using two chef knives held together for mincing the meat. It is a little tricky to handle but it doubles your cutting surfaces and allows you to get it done in about half the time you would be doing with a single knife. Another option is to toss your venison into a food processor. Process it until the pieces are less than 1/4 inch in size. Take care not to over process it and make a paste out of your meat.

Brown 1/4 pound of minced venison in a heavy skillet with 2 tbsp of oil, 1/4 cup of diced sweet onion, and 2 ribs of celery, chopped fine. In a separate pan, boil 2 sweet potatoes, skinned and diced, until they can be pierced with a tooth pick. Drain the water off of the sweet potatoes except for a 1/4 cup.  Mash the sweet potatoes with garlic, butter, salt, and pepper to taste.

In a separate bowl, mix 2 cups of flour with 1 cup of milk. You should get a dough that is somewhat sticky but still easy to handle. Alternatively, you can prepare 2 cups of biscuit mix as per directions. Roll out your dough and with a large glass or a biscuit cutter, cut out 2 dozen rounds.

Mix the venison mixture with the sweet potatoes. Spoon a generous amount into the center of a dozen biscuit rounds. Place another biscuit round on top and press the edges together with a fork. Prick the center of the top biscuit round three times with a fork.

Carefully place your biscuit rounds on a greased cookie sheet. (You can line the cookie sheet with baking parchment instead of greasing the cookie sheet.) Bake at 350^o until biscuits are golden brown. Serve warm with broth.

If you are looking for more Earthly fare, try this British Meat Pies recipe which inspired this one. Another variation that can be used in rounds of bread dough crimped together with a slit in the top to let the steam out. Bake this version at 350^o until golden brown.

All temperatures given are in Fahrenheit.

An idea, but I'm not sure how to use it.

I was washing dishes and getting ready to make dinner when this went through my mind. I don't know which of the next books it will be used in, but I am definitely going to be using this.
~*~*~*~*~*~

"We need not trouble ourselves over women," Askemb scoffed, "They are weak creatures that follow the wind's will."

Axeron turned his eerie gaze upon the High King of Evandar. "The wise fear the daughters of men. The sons of men are mighty in battle, but the daughters are feared by all," he warned.

Askemb made a dismissive gesture as he reached for his cup. "In ages passed, perhaps," he said, picking up the cup and putting it to his lips. He was in the midst of his drink when Axeron replied.

"Many may have forgotten how to weave upon the loom of bones, with men's entrails for warp and weft. Many may no longer weight the warp with the heads of their foes, use swords for shuttles, or spears as beaters. But there are those who do. You would be wise to fear them, oh king of men," the deamon prince said, "For it is women who take the first portion of the ancestor's sacrifice. It is women who bleed and yet do not die. It is women who tread the road to the gates of life and death. In her fury, a 'mere' woman may slay a man twice her size, even if he is her lover. Underestimate them and they will bring your death on their white hands."

Serial Story: Dacia

Here's all the links to the story set in Dacia. I will update this post with future links as the next installments go live.

Part I: Abraxas & Soreanan

Part II: Sorenan & Mina

Part III: The Sons of Omourath

Part IV: The General Zalaz

Part V: The High Council of Dacia

Part VI: Of Lions and Eagles

Part VII: Ashur's Will

Part IIX: Shadows of the Storm

Part IX: Julara's Mercy, Ashur's Wrath

Part X: The Confession of Zafar the Betrayer

Part XI: On the banks of Is

Part XII: False Dawn

Part IXX: Desert's Edge

Part XX: The Road to Zard Kuh (Part I)

Part XX I: The Road to Zard Kuh (Part II)

Part XX II: The Road to Zard Kuh (Part III)

Part XX III: Floods in the Desert

Part XX IV: The Blood of Kings and Paupers

Part XX V: Lady of the North Ascends

Part XX VI: Departure

Part XX VII: Al-Uzza's Bane

Part XX IIX: False Serenity

Part XX IX: A Whisper of Treachery

Part XXX: Rain and Snow

Part XXX I: Dreams

Part XXX II: Sunrise

Part XXX III: Wrath of Julara

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Short stories:
The Wrath of Ashur

Locales: Ackmere

Ackmere is the south-westerly kingdom of Evandar's seven that borders Swavia and Aelethemer to the north, Moesia to the east, and the region known as the Darklands to the south. On the western side of Ackmere are the grasslands that lead to the desert known as the Waste. Where the grasslands north of Ackmere are claimed as part of Aelethmer's domain, the ones on the border of Ackmere are not claimed as part of that kingdom but rather reserved for the people who were ancestrally displaced from the Darklands during the Great War of the last Age. Officially, these people are free and not tied to any kingdom. In practice, however, they align with Ackmere. They, however, are not part of the seven kingdoms that make up the greater kingdom of Evandar.

In the north of Ackmere, where the pinnacle of the boundary meets Aelethmer, the foothills of the Shattered Mountains roll. There is a region of six lakes that are heavily sheltered by the hills from the bitter winters of the north. These lakes are known as the tears of Roen, for local folklore states they were formed by her tears as she walked the world and saw the evil Morguthu brought. Around these lakes, there are vineyards. This is where Ackmere's wine production predominantly happens. The wines of Ackmere are considered to be almost as good as those of Aelethmer.

The mountains of the Shattered Mountains range march through the eastern side of Ackmere. They divide the kingdom into two regions. The western side of Ackemer is approximately two thirds of the kingdom. The western region with its hills are known for the sheep and goats that reside there. The villages and towns of western Ackmere are predominantly places where fabric is fashioned and traded. In the city of Crookdown, the largest center of fabric trade of the seven kingdoms is located. Exotic fabric, such as silk from the distant lands of Pannonia in across the sea, first come into the kingdom here. While Ackmere is not favored with ports, it is part of a great trading route that moves through the lands about the great sea.

Eastern Ackmere is a place where timber is traded. The trees of the southernmost part of the kingdom are rare, for they have grown in the bogs that reach into the realm known as the Darklands. The bog wood is reputed to possess magical powers. It is also extremely durable and resistant to rot. There are also orchards in eastern Ackmere that are famed for their fruit. The plums of eastern Ackmere are fashioned into a wine that is popular through out the seven kingdoms for its sweetness. Eastern Ackmere is considered to be the gateway to the inner kingdoms. The trade routes through the Shattered Mountains are well policed with a dedicated force that answers to the king.

The monarchy of Ackmere is a matrilineal one. The rule of the kingdom is handed down from mother to daughter. The queens of Ackmere have an established reputation as ruthless and devious enemies of their foes. The sitting queen is living up to her reputation with her merciless rule over her lands. Malcontents are found out and punished when they speak out against the queen. The queen is also known for the fact that she has ridden out into battle, leading her troops personally. The king of Ackmere is generally more of a consort figure with substantially less power, though in theory he is the queen's equal.

In the entire history of Ackmere, there has only been one known battle between the queen and her king. This battle has been remembered as a bloody civil war between west and east Ackmere. The conclusion of the civil war brought a considerable reduction to the king's power. Indeed, that king was imprisoned by the queen and died under suspicious circumstances.

Shadows of the Storm

Three weeks had passed since Zalaz's call for all men of age to take up arms. Travelers on the roads through Dacia found themselves in the company of armed men, all moving towards the west. The first of the legions arrived and set up an encampment before the village that called itself a city, Asser. An hour away from Dacia, Asser was unassuming for all the village's claims of greatness. Their deep wells and rich vinyards were the only thing truly of note about Asser. Now, however, those wells were busy at all hours of the day and the grapes were untended upon the vine because the servants were learning the craft of war.



Zalaz rode through Asser with Sorenan at his side. The pair were a strange sight. Zalaz with his white light armor and clothes seemed to gleam brilliantly in the weak light of dawn. Sorenan wore black. Zalaz's black hair was bound up in a braid that bounced against his back as he rode his bay horse along the streets where as Sorenan's tawny gold hair was free and teased by the wind. The horse he rode was as black as the dead of night and restless. The stallion tossed his mane frequently and strained against Sorenan's control, wanting to move at a brisker pace than the walk he was forced into.



People from the village watched them move towards the encampment with some curiosity and some dread. The young women who had lost their sweethearts to glory's call watched with bitterness. The children followed in their wake excitedly, to the dismay of their mothers. They were nearly to the edge of the village when a boy darted out from between the brick houses and almost under Sorenan's mount. As the child's mother pulled him back with a cry of alarm, Sorenan reined in the horse hard. The black horse reared and the child screamed. Hooves crashed to the earth moments after the boy was pulled back. Sorenan looked down at the lad, who stared up at him with awe and fear.



"Stay back if you would live to be a man," Sorenan said. The boy nodded as his mother clutched him to her breast. She stared at Sorenan as though he was some sort of monster. Sorenan scowled and looked forward. As he rode forward and caught up to Zalaz, he shook his head with disgust. "They would declare me a demon," Sorenan said bitterly, "They whisper that I am a monster." Zalaz looked over at him with an inquistive expression. "I care because they would use it as justification against them," Sorenan explained.



Zalaz nodded. They rode in silence the short distance to the encampment. Though the men assembled were within their own lands, Zalaz noted with approval that a watch had been set. The guard stepped forward to challenge them. He then saw the sash about Zalaz's waist. The younger man bowed deeply as he stepped aside. Zalaz frowned at the sight of how poorly the guard's armor fit him. They rode deeper through the tents until they reached the pavillion of the commander.



Someone had noted Zalaz's approach and word had reached the commander that the Lord High General had come to them. Thus, when Zalaz and Sorenan emerged into the open space at the center of the encampment where the commander's pavilion stood, that man was waiting for them dressed in his armor. With a white breastplate and brown pauldrons, the stocky commander seemed to have rushed to put his too clean armor on. Zalaz inwardly scoffed at how the commander's clothes beneath the armor looked rumpled, as though they had been hastily put on. He suspected that within the pavilion, the commander's woman from the night before was rushing to dress herself and attempting to determine what exactly she should do.



"What news is there from the west?" Zalaz said to the commander. The man before him swallowed anxiously, never having anticipated that he would actually speak with the Lord High General himself. Zalaz waited, restraining a dry remark about how words would have been a more effective mode of communication rather than staring at him. The commander looked over at Sorenan with some discomfort. "Well," Zalaz said, "What do your riders know? I presume they have returned already."



Starting slightly with surprise at Zalaz's words, the commander turned his gaze to the general. "They returned last night. The cities of Kist and Levanth are fully evacuated. Midthar has yet to begin their evacuation. They insist there is no threat and the summons of their men an attempt to grab power," he said, dreading Zalaz's response. Zalaz looked at the commander with his loose right pauldron, waiting for any additional details to be mentioned. "The guard of Midthar have been set against your men," the discomforted man continued, sounding apologetic, "The messengers returned with warning that Midthar would repel any who come for her people. They deny that Temna has turned against us."



"So be it," Zalaz said, "We will leave them to their fate. However, if word comes that Midthar needs aid, we must be ready to march. It may be the most distant city of the empire but it will be the first that will be assaulted. Clearly Zafar has forgotten our discussion." A disturbance at the western edge of the encampment caught the general's attention even as a runner came from there.



"Riders," the man gasped as he reached the commander, "We can't tell who they are." The commander looked at Zalaz, whose sharp eyes could see the wave of activity move through the encampment. Men looked to their weapons. Some began to move towards the edge of the encampment as others looked to their leaders for orders.



"How many?" Zalaz demanded before the commander could speak.



"It is a small party. We think twelve. The others are watching them. Olthos should be coming next with more information," the messenger said. The commander started to say something when Zalaz cut him off again.



"Return to your watch. Look if there is another party behind them," Zalaz said, "Send word as soon as you sight any others in their wake or if they come bearing the standard of Temna. Black field with a gold spear peircing a red sun." The guard nodded briskly, saluted Zalaz and then his commander before turning to race back to his post. Zalaz looked at the commander. "Keep arms at the ready," Zalaz said, "No one moves until I give word. These may be friends of Dacia. Or they may be a scouting party of the enemy. When they reach the encampment's edge, bring them to me."



Zalaz dismounted. Sorenan followed in his wake. A footsoldier took the reins of both horses. Where the commander looked untried and unsteady, the footsoldier bore the mark of a seasoned fighter. His scars and cool demeanor at the prospect of the enemy bearing down on them, compared to how the commander flushed and his lieutenants paled, sat well with Sorenan. Sorenan decided if he couldn't have Zalaz at his back, the man holding their horses may be a good choice compared to the ones who would insist on the 'honor' of defending Ashur's sword-bearer.



Zalaz motioned the commander with him as he entered into the pavilion. One of the commander's subordinates moved to stop Sorenan from walking into the pavilion when Sorenan fixed him with a look. Sorenan's eyes, which had been almost olive green, lightened to the color of amber as they narrowed. The other man paled and made a warding gesture as the angered man passed by him. For once, Sorenan decided that the whisper he was a demon might actually have been useful.



Once inside the tent, Sorenan noticed Zalaz and the commander at a table with a map unfurled. Standing near the cot, attempting to will herself into invisibility was a dark eyed woman who looked barely to be an adult. "An escort will bring you to Asser," Sorenan said to her. She jumped a little at Sorenan's words, not expecting someone to actually speak to her. Zalaz looked up from the map and saw the woman standing there. He looked over at Sorenan and noticed the anger simmering in him.



As the general opened his mouth to call for a soldier to perform the duty that Sorenan declared would be done, a footsoldier burst in to the tent. "The riders are coming into bow range, Lord High General," he said, "They bear the standard of Temna. No others are behind them. They appear to be unarmed." Zalaz and Sorenan exchanged a look that spoke volumes. The commander was confused.



"Do we bring them before the Empress?" Sorenan asked. Zalaz looked down at the map and drummed his fingers on the table.



"Yes, with an armed escort and we accompany them," Zalaz said with out looking up, "Pick the men you think best suited." Sorenan nodded and walked out as the commander summoned up the courage to attempt to argue with the general as to who should accompany the coming party. Sorenan didn't need to listen in to know that Zalaz was about to educate his subpar commander as to what his duties were and just how far his rank allowed him to go. He was, however surprised when Zalaz had not raised his voice.



Sorenan looked at the men about the innermost circle of the encampment. He noted with some approval that most of them were like the man who still was holding the reins of the horses. He pointed to nine men. "You, fetch your weapons and spears," he said. The lieutenant nearest to him looked as though he was about to argue when Sorenan fixed his leonine eyes on him. "Clear a path for the messengers to come through the encampment," he said to the lieutenant, "We will not give them a chance to see our numbers but they will know we were awaiting them. Each man along that path will be armed and facing them. I want our guests to be ... welcome and secure." The lieutenant looked at him confused by Sorenan's final statement.



The nine that Sorenan ordered to arm themselves returned to him as the other man gave the orders that Sorenan demanded. Zalaz walked out of the pavillion. He looked at the armed men that Sorenan selected and gave a small nod of approval. "The envoys will not be pleased with their reception," Zalaz said dryly. Sorenan scoffed as he mounted his horse. Zalaz mounted and watched as an aisle formed between the ranks through the encampment. All along the sides of that aisle, warriors stood as though awaiting formal inspection. "It may be that you will do well at this after all," Zalaz said and Sorenan rolled his eyes. With a small, feirce smile, the general said, "Let us meet our guests."



The two men rode sedately through the encampment with their nine companions marching at their backs. As the Lord High General and the Sword-bearer of Ashur passed, a whisper went through those who stood watching behind the guard. Zalaz noted with some satisfaction that discipline held though the curious men wanted to get a better look at them. Zalas and Sorenan stopped at the edge of the encampment and watched as the riders drew closer. The banner of Temna snapped in the wind as the party, which was actually six men, reined in their horses and stopped before Zalaz and Sorenan.



"Give us passage," the lead rider demanded, "We come bearing a message from King Ashera, first of his name and blessed by Adar, god of all gods, ruler of Temna. We speak only to the Empress of Dacia, she who is the Daughter of Julara." As the man spoke, Zalaz's expression turned still and Sorenan's became inscrutible.



"We shall give you passage and an escort. I am Zalaz, Lord High General of Dacia. You shall be under my personal protection," the general said solemnly.



The leader of the party turned his gaze to Sorenan. "The demon of the north rides with you," he said, "Your offers of protection are worthless with it at your side."



Zalaz's ferocious smile returned. "Say what you will, the Sword-bearer of Assur remains with us. You are welcome to return to Temna with your words unsaid," he replied in an almost pleasant tone. The man before him dressed in black robes frowned.



"It rides before us," the lead messenger said, "If it threatens us, we shall cut it down."



Zalaz's smile vanished and a stony look replaced it. "Arrogance does not become the messengers of Temna. Speak against the Sword-bearer of Assur again and you will not like the consequences," Zalaz replied, all pretence of pleasantries falling out of his manner. The subordinates of the messenger looked between themselves uneasily. "Come, if you would see her Ladyship," Zalaz said.



The messengers said nothing as Zalaz and Sorenan turned their mounts and began to ride back through the camp. As they followed, the escort surrounded them. "You would threaten us with your men of arms," the lead messenger said.



Sorenan called back of his shoulder, "They are for your protection. We would be remiss if we allowed harm to befall you in your duty." Uncomfortable silence reigned as the party passed through Asser. The hill that Dacia stood atop looked green and inviting, almost a paradise to the desert men that rode with Sorenan and Zalaz. The leader of the party looked about himself with some interest.



The group traveled over the road to Dacia the lead messenger commented, "Your fields seem ready for harvest yet no one is at work." Sorenan said nothing, as did Zalaz. The hostile silence worked to make the envoy party uncomfortable and intensely conscious of their lack of substantial arms. Of the entire group, only the leader bore a sword. The subordinate messengers silently plotted how they would seize the weapons of their escorts if it was necessary. Though Zalaz and Sorenan seemed to ignore the group of men riding behind them, they were paying them close attention, listening for any conversation between them.



The gates of Dacia came into view as they made their way up the hill. The city guard stood watching as the little party approached. Someone noted that the riders with the general and Sorenan were surrounded by an armed escort. When they passed the outer walls, a second armed escort surrounded the party. "Yet more men to threaten us," the envoy said.



"Dacia does not threaten," Zalaz answered, "They are for your welfare within the city. Some have grown suspicious of Temna and would greet you unpleasantly."



"Are not your guard sufficient?" the envoy demanded.



"The city watch is not under my command," Zalaz responded, "If the commander of the watch deems it necessary to provide you protection, then he will do so. As he has." The messengers were ushered through the marketplace, where the people of Dacia watched them uneasily. Soon, they were at the courtyard before the temple of Julara. As they came to a halt, Mina stepped forward from the portico with Marcos at her side. Members of the city guard stood posted about the courtyard at the various entrances.



Zalaz brought the party to a halt in the center of the square. The city watchmen moved away from the party to join their breathren in arms at their postings. People peered around them as Zalaz's soldiers moved a distance away from the envoys. Zalaz dismounted. Sorenan did so as well as a servant came running to take their horses. As their mounts were lead away, Zalaz watched Sorenan walk to stand at Marcos's side.



"Blessed Lady, holy Empress, she who is the Daughter of Julara," Zalaz called loudly, his voice filling the air with its strident tones, "I bring an envoy of Temna to your presence." Mina looked down on the party still mounted behind Zalaz. She watched as Zalaz stepped aside, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. The lead envoy looked up at Mina, clearly displeased that she stood above him.



"We come bearing a message from King Ashera, first of his name and blessed by Adar, god of all gods, ruler of Temna," the man in black said, "He demands that the Empress surrender herself to his protection and submit Dacia to his rule as a protectorate. King Ashera promises that the Empress will be attended with all honors due to her as the Daughter of Julara. He gives his word that Dacia shall prosper under his benevolent hand."



Mina looked down at him, disappointed that her intuition about the envoy was correct. She turned her attention to Marcos. "He offers us subjugation and humiliation," she said in a voice that was loud enough to be carried to the envoy party. Marcos's expression had the unearthly calm that came from Ashur's hand being upon him. He set his hand upon the sword at his right side.



"King Ashera does not intend to humiliate you, Empress," the envoy said, "He would treat you with all honor and graciousness."



"His demands must be answered in kind," Marcos said. He stepped forward, with Sorenan at his side, he walked down the steps of the temple. As the Sword-bearers of Ashur approached, the lead envoy dismounted. Following their leader's example, the rest of the party dismounted. "General," Marcos said, "Attend me." Zalaz approached. The lead envoy stepped forward to be lead up the temple steps.



His expression of shock remained fixed upon his face as his head fell to the ground after Marcos's sword flashed in the light. The span between drawing his blade and beheading the lead envoy was shockingly small, even to Zalaz's seasoned eye. The others of the envoy attempted to mount as the three men approached. Zalaz and Sorenan hewed down two men each as Marcos wounded a third. The last two men of the envoy had some how managed to mount their horses before Zalaz and Sorenan were upon them. With the practice of years of experience, the two warriors pulled the unarmed men off their horses. Sorenan killed his captive as Zalaz forced his to his knees. The horses had run towards the other end of the courtyard, where they were captured by the guardsmen.



Marcos walked up to Zalaz's captive who stared up at him in terror. "You will bear this message back to Ashera. Tell him that Ashur's wrath has turned upon him. Tell him that Adar kneels before Ashur, father of all gods, and so shall Temna before the Daughter of Julara if they dare march against her," Marcos said in a flat tone. He brought up his sword and cut the captive man's right cheek as Sorenan came forward and cut the left. "These marks from Ashur's sword will help you remember this message," Marcos said. Marcos turned his gaze to Zalaz.



"Behead the bodies and fix the heads upon the saddle of this envoy's horse. Bind him and fix him to his mount. Drive him from our presence," he commanded. The captive, who froze with terror as Marcos and Sorenan cut his face, attempted to break free from Zalaz's hold. Marcos returned his attention to the prisoner. "It is Julara's mercy that you live," he said, "Her Daughter would have you bear this message. Be thankful for it, because Ashur would have you killed as well."



"He will kill you," the captive screamed at Marcos and Sorenan as they turned and walked up the steps to stand with Mina. "Adar will wipe you from the earth. Dacia will kneel," he shrieked as he was dragged to his horse by Zalaz's men. Marcos looked over at Mina, a silent question in his eyes.



"He will keep his tongue to bear the message," she said, "Let him be gagged." Zalaz heard Mina and passed word to his men. Soon, the envoy was bound to his horse with the heads of his companions. He glared at Mina and Marcos with hatred. The guards closed in around him and he was escorted away along the path he had come. A servant had brought cloths for Marcos, Sorenan, and Zalaz to clean their blades. The city watch turned to return to their posts when Mina raised her hands high.



All turned to look at her. "War comes upon us. The journey from Temna to here is three weeks time. All who take arms do so with the blessings of Julara and Ashur," she called out to her people, "Forces come to us from through out the empire. We shall not fall."

Inspiration.

I find inspiration in many places. Right now, it is a bit hard to come by. I think that is due to the combination of stress and brain fog from my allergies. Usually, music is a really big source of inspiration for me. I like to listen to soundtracks of movies and classical works. I have a love of the romantic period Russian composers. I also find inspiration in contemporary music. I am saddened that E.S. Posthumus is no more. Apparently, this was two brothers working together to produce electro-classical works. One of the brothers died and that was the end of E.S. Posthumus.

Taking walks, I sometimes have ideas pop into my mind or solutions to plot problems arise from seemingly nowhere. I highly recommend the practice of taking a daily stroll. It is great exercise and has a lot of health benefits. But the thing I really love about them is the way I always come back from a walk with new ideas for something to write. I wish I had more picturesque surroundings to walk through, like I did when I was growing up on the farm. Still, I have the lake near by and this little town we live in is generally pleasant.

I wish I could say that my children inspired me. It is less that they inspire material as much as they provoke strong emotions which become expressed through my writing. Some days, I am filled with deep love and happiness. Most days, I find myself rather frustrated. By purging my frustration on the page, I find myself having a better grip on how to parent. I suppose everyone needs an outlet for those feelings and mine happens to be the written word.

Pictures and reading about different places in the world (and different periods of history) have always been an enormous source of inspiration. Dacia, the empire that I have a serial I'm working on here, is based in a fantasy version of the empires of Babylon and Assyria. I've taken some liberties with how things are structured and such. At the same time, however, you can see those roots if you look hard enough. I like to draw details from history of our world into my writing because it makes it a bit more meaty.

In case you haven't noticed, I prefer my fantasy with a heavy dose of realism in it. By basing material on existing facts within our world, I make it easier for someone to suspend reality long enough to enjoy the story. I figure because I absolutely love this experience, I should share it with you, my readers. I find visceral pleasure in the well written word and expertly crafted stories. I aspire to reach the same level of skill as authors like Jacqueline Carey. Their lush worlds, vibrant characters, and clever plots draw me in and have a mesmerizing hold on me. Reading is my escape just as much as my writing is. And I hope to make it a pleasurable escape for you, my readers.

Random thoughts.

I have been struggling with allergies all week. The Benadryl has not been doing much for my itchy eyes and uncomfortable sinuses. It has lead to my not being as productive as I wanted to be. As much as I hate winter, I look forward to the time where my allergies will be alleviated by the blanket of white everywhere. I have, however, been thinking quite a bit.

I have a new laptop. As I am getting familiar with it, I find myself considering naming it and at something of a loss for what that name should be. I was worried at first because I couldn't find the word processing software and thought I had to download something. Then, after some tinkering, I finally found it and played around with it a bit. It seems to be just like Word, which I have been using for all these years when I am not writing out things longhand. I think my next logical step, before I start pounding out some serious writing with it, should be to acquire a thumb drive. I'm not sure what brands are good, so if any of you, my readers, have suggestions, please let me know in the comments.

I spent a large portion of this week cleaning up my project room. I now have a work space where I can sit with my laptop and work with out distractions. I will confess, in addition to my laptop, I have an assortment of pens which includes three dip pens (and bottles of ink), six felt tipped calligraphy pens, and two fountain pens with interchangeable tips. As I was going through my pen collection, I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I really do love writing with these pens. At the same time, I feel like I need a good set of cheap but smooth writing ball point pens. I've been looking at the Pilot G3 pens at the local Walmart and moving towards buying a small stock of them.

With my uncovering my writing space and where I had hidden my lovely, lovely pens, I also discovered yet another notebook relating to a large writing project. It is the first one that I started to record ideas for the Sanctuary series in. I don't have a lot in there, but it is good that I found it because my other notebook is getting quite full. I am in the middle of working on revising the first book of the Sanctuary series. I don't feel as confident with that one as I do with the Umbrel Chronicles because the different genre. Still, I keep feeling the push to write it, so I have been. I am trying to decide if I will publish that under a pen name or not. When I have things more settled with that series, I will let you know more about it.

I have started the process of drafting out and plotting book seven of the Umbrel Chronicles. Editing books three and four has been slow and somewhat difficult going. I have been finding quite a few errors and correcting them. The major parts of the story, however, remain intact and that is something that I am pleased with. I have yet to begin the revision process on books five and six. They are in the 'mellowing' period where I let a manuscript rest before I come back to it and start revisions. I like to let a manuscript sit for around half a year so that I can come back to it with fresh eyes. It slows down the production process, I suppose, but it makes for a better quality result.

One thing that I do know, however, is that book seven will be longer than the previous books. I found myself writing to a word count (50k approximately) that has come to feel too arbitrarily short. Sure, I can tell a story in 50k words. My six books give evidence of that. I feel, however, that I am stopping in the middle of the action. Editing has only reinforced this feeling that I am stopping short of where I need to be. So, this time, I am going to write until the story tells me it is finished. I don't know if it will be 50k or 100k words when I stop, but I'm not going to worry about it. I am just going to focus on following the wisdom of Earnest Hemingway and 'Write the truest sentence you know.'