Author: john wick

“This is the most work I’ve done on anybody’s story,” she told me. The girl with the long, black hair, slender frame, dark billowy clothes and the old, old name. The Celtic name. “Isn’t that from the Middle East?” she asked me when I told her where it came from, not a week ago. She was doing finishing touches on the glass on the table, showing me a new trick she learned.

“Thanks,” I said. “It looks great.”

“Niten,” she said, finishing the glass. “That means ‘two-swords’ or something, doesn’t it?”

I smiled, a little surprised. “Yes, it does. How’d you know that?”

“Same way I know my name is from a Celtic Queen,” she looked away from the screen up at me, her voice dropping an octive. “A queen notorious for her bedroom skills.”

I just stood there, stunned.

She saved the file. Then, she laughed. “April Fool’s,” she said. She shut down her computer and got up for the time clock. “And you thought I didn’t know. Smarty pants.”

Damn.
I’ve been tricked.
Cool. Very cool.

Ain’t nothing as sexy as a girl that can outsmart you.

On the Nickel

Sticks and stones will break my bones
But I always will be true
And when your mama is dead and gone
I’ll sing this lullabye just for you.
And what becomes of all the little boys
Who never comb their hair
Well they’re lined up all around the block
On the nickel over there.

So you better bring a bucket
There is a hole in the pail
And if you don’t get my letter
Then you’ll know that i’m in jail.
And what becomes of all the little boys
Who never say their prayers
Well they’re sleepin’ like a baby
On the nickel over there.

And if you chew tobacco
And wish upon a star
Well you’ll find out where the scarecrows sit
Just like punch lines between the cars.
And I know a place where a royal flush
Can never beat a pair
And even Thomas Jefferson
Is on the nickel over there.

So ring around the rosie
You’re sleepin’ in the rain
And you’re always late for supper
And man you let me down again.
I thought I heard a mockingbird
Roosevelt knows where
You can skip the light with Grady Tuck
On the nickel over there.

So what becomes of all the little boys
Who run away from home
Well the world just keeps gettin’ bigger
Once you get out on your own.
So here’s to all the little boys
The sandman takes you where
You’ll be sleepin’ with a pillowman
On the nickel over there.

So let’s climb up through that button hole
And we’ll fall right up the stairs
And I’ll show you where the short dogs grow
On the nickel over there.

(Tom Waits)

* * *
“The Nickel” was a Los Angeles mission located on 5th street. Thus, to be “on the nickel” is someone down and out, out of luck.

When I get my bills caught up, I’m so getting a subscription…

… you should, too.

It’s two AM, and I can’t sleep. Well, at least I’m not making soap.

I really don’t have anything to say other than that. I can barely type (had to redo “other” four times) and I feel awful. A bug or something. So, I decided to do laundry. Whew. The glamourous life of a game designer/writer.

It’s funny — this is the first time in my life I’ve had my own place. My own space. No roommate, no live-in lover, no anybody. It’s quiet. I can get up at 2 in the morning, stomp around the place, make myself a sandwich, and there’s no-one to worry about waking up. Oh, there’s the neighbors, but that’s it. No-one to watch me, no-one to see.

Kristofferson was right. “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” Or, “nobody.”

The agent is looking over my new outline. He likes the changes. Be throwing my book at Ballantine and Tor next week. Cross your fingers.

I already want to change the novel. I’ve got to keep working on other stuff, but I want to go back and change things. I’m a better writer. Wrote it six months ago. I’m better now. Can I go back and make changes? Can I? Can I? Heh. I’m used to this. Reading the Scorpion book is sometimes very painful. Fun, but painful. Reminds me of another activity…

… and with that, I’m gonna try to get some sleep.

Be good kids.

It appears Lesnar’s neck isn’t damaged (as was feared). He was rushed from the event last night immediately after the match and held overnight in the hospital for observation. When the tests came back today, it was discovered he had no permanent damage in his neck — other than a few bruised muscles.

He did suffer a serious concussion, and should be out of commission while he recovers.

If you want to see what the hell a “shooting star press” is, just go here:

And remember: this guy is over 300 pounds and stands over 6.5 feet tall. Just amazing.

I didn’t even know her, and I miss her already.

Thank you for your gift, sweet lady. I won’t forget.

“One light… in a dark valley…”

Monday: The Gray Faerie
Teusday: Captain Dread
Today: Niten Hiroru
Tomorrow: The World!!!

I’ve got a goal. One story a day. It’s a private goal and the other writers are starting to look at me with sideways glances, but I don’t care!

Top that off with the Big Secret Private Project at home, the novel (my agent wants me to re-write a few sections of the outline), and my Cammie apps, and I’m just a busy little writer bee.

No. Not a bee. A wasp.
Buzzz!!!

So, my boss needs a new name for the new Neopian world. It’s the Land of Legends. Something epic and Hellenic and stuff like that.

I’ve come up with about fifty different names for him, and his reply to each one is, “No.”

Not why he didn’t like it or what he didn’t like about it. Just “No.”

I’m sitting at my desk, trying to think of something new — when I remember everyone who ever worked for me say, “John is so hard to work for! He likes things or doesn’t like them, and it just seems random!”

Well, it wasn’t random. Some things “fit,” and others didn’t. The subtle nuances of storytelling. Some secrets can’t be told. All that stuff.

Now, I’m on the other end of it. Someone once told me, “You don’t stop learning until ten minutes after you’re dead.”

I died four months ago, and I’m still learning.

So, I’m writing “flavor text” for a bunch of the trading cards on the site, when I stumble across a little Kiko, all in black, with a katana.

Hm…

So, I go to my boss. “Who’s this guy?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his Welsh accent making his vowels all thick. “Some kiko ninja or something…”

“Mind if I write up a story for him?”

“Go for it.”

And thus was born “Niten Hiroru: the Kiko Ninja.”

The irony will be lost on most, but not on all.