The 14th century was a seriously bad time marked by The Black Death and The Hundred Years’ War. After the plague, to combat the wage inflation caused by there being 30-50% fewer folks standing around, the nobility said, “Sure, I’ll pay you twice what I used to pay you,” and then they turned around and devalued the coins they used. Thus, even though you were now paid 6 sous each day, with their value cut in half they’d only buy you 3 sous worth of goods. Complain as you might, you were powerless to change it.
Amazon is like that. No, not like the Black Death. Like medieval nobility. (Though you could make an argument for the Black Death, too.)
To be honest, I started this blog because I want your money. That’s not the only reason, but it’s definitely in the mix.
n time, he knew, his transgression would be forgiven (though not forgotten, for during their thirty tumultuous years, his wife had proven the tenacious nature of her memory when it came to remembered wrongs), but oh, in those first raw moments when his sleeping, animal mind awoke to action, its raging mouth spewing vowel-filled vomit and its sharp-clawed arms flailing the air with a strength that quite overwhelmed his usually reasonable demeanor, while his shrieking brain was infused by a single thought–Damn you!–and his only goal was to win, to beat down any who had the stupefying arrogance to question his authority, he was transformed by the heat of his frustration and anger from his normal self into a god–not the loving God of Creation, possessed of boundless serenity and knowledge, but one of the ancient gods, in whom everything human was magnified and every act saturated with earthly emotion–and though the rational part of his mind recoiled at the anguish he sculpted, his chiseled words striking her features with cold, steely precision, he could not suppress (and in truth, actually reveled in) the pounding exultation he felt as each tear tracked down her wizened cheek, a flood of salt water pressed from a frozen stone.
The spruce stood tall, a shadowed cone against the cold and dawning morn, a giant sentinel overlooking the crossroads along my route to work. The bus rocked like a ship in rough seas as it rattled into the intersection, fatigued metal complaining, whirring heater blasting air like a blow-dryer, but as we passed the ancient spruce, above the din, I heard music.
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 
Something…Wonderful
Posted in Culture, Writing, tagged creative writing, Dragon Magazine, reader comments, short stories, Spencer's Peace, Writing on 25 Feb 2015| 4 Comments »
Last night, as I was doing my taxes, something wonderful happened. Keep in mind: this is “wonderful” on a small, very personal scale. I did not happen upon the answer to problems in the Middle East or a cure for rampant stupidity. Nor did I find a loophole in the tax code that doubled my refund.
So, that’s what it wasn’t. With your expectations properly lowered, let’s move onward to what it was.
I was filling out Schedule SE (rather pleased that I had enough writing income to warrant its use) when an email came in. It was a message redirected to me from the Contact page here on this blog. I don’t get many direct messages from blog readers, and about half of those I do receive are from people wanting to market their wares via a guest-post on my blog–cheeky bastards–so when it was clear that this message was from a reader and not a self-promoter, it was already a good sign. I opened it, and I read.
In the hyperbolic style of internet memes: What happened next blew my mind. (more…)
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