So it's taken me some time, but I have finally started a web site. I've had the domain name for years, but only recently have I built something on it besides my production resume. What amazed me the most was the cost of hosting a web site. I suppose 48 - 60 bucks a year isn't bad, but when you're unemployed and the web site is about promoting my writing work and not a store front, it just seems a tad over the top. But I found a place that does the hosting for free up to a point. So that's what I'm doing. And, ta dum:
There it is. My own name, too. I think I probably got lucky there.
So on the page is a picture:
I made the picture. I wanted something that looked sketched or water colored. But I can't do either so this is done on a program and I didn't try to be realistic or perfect. It's all that's on the front page because I think front pages should be simple. It says who I am and what you'll find there. Mouse over a book and you can get to the prose, plays, bio, resumes, and - gads - poems.
There's not much there now, but I'll just keep adding and adding.
If you get there from here you can always come back to here and leave comments about the web page.
Oh, and I'll soon link to this blog from my webpage and this little private corner that we've been sharing, me and ... uh ... uh ... someone, will be filled with hundreds .. no, dozens ... no, a few more people who've come to gawk at the train wreck.
Since you're here, here's the first 1400 words from a book I'm working on called "The Village In The Sky."
Enjoy.
Storm clouds with wings? Jan had
to rub his eyes and look again to be sure.
He was up in the town's clock
tower. It was a place he'd always been drawn to. But since the
carnival and the ride in the hot air balloon he wanted to spend as
much time as high as he could. The clock tower was the highest point
in the town. In all that time he'd never seen such dark storm clouds.
And he'd never, ever, seen clouds with wings.
The clouds were oddly shaped and
worthy of scrutiny all their own. The looked like black, furry,
upside down raindrops, their narrow tips at the bottom. The addition
of wings as black and as long as the clouds were tall was cause for
even more wonder. And concern.
The clock tower's early history
had been as a watchtower for invaders and, according to some of the
elder town folk, dragons. Jan had seen pictures of dragons in the
books in the library. They looked nothing like the tall black clouds
with wings.
Looking down to the street a
hundred feet below, Jan could see that other people of the town had
seen the clouds approaching. They were slowly walking towards the end
of town nearest the approaching clouds. His mother stepped out from
the blacksmith shop that Jan's father operated. She looked to the
clock tower and waved for Jan to join her.
Jan waved and quickly began the
descent from the tower to the park around the tower. He took the
steps in great leaps. He jumped the last three stairs to each landing
and then turned and jumped three more stairs to get halfway down to
the next landing. There were twenty landings and it took him mere
seconds to get to the door that opened onto the park with its green
grass, the old well, and several shade trees. Benches beneath the
trees were often filled with older towns people as they sat and
chatted about the old days. But now the benches were empty.
Running through the doorway, Jan
continued across the cobblestone square that marked the center of the
town and down the street to his mother who stood waiting outside the
blacksmith shop.
“Did you see the strange clouds,
mother?”
Jan's mother, Wiktoria, held out
an arm and pulled Jan into a hug as he stopped by her side.
“No,” she said. “But I did
hear others talking about it as they walked past.”
Pawel, Jan's father was away in
the city, fixing the central clock. Besides being a blacksmith he was
also a tinkerer and was capable of fixing almost anything. He built
bicycles, fixed oil lamps and cuckoo clocks, made dining ware for
families and sword for soldiers. His skills were well known and it
was the city mayor, personally, who'd sent for Jan's father to come
and fix their clock.
“They're big, bigger than the
balloon at the carnival.”
Wiktoria smiled at Jan's
description. Jan was always talking about the balloon and its
mysterious source of hot air that had been kept in a special box,
locked to prevent snooping.
“That big?” she asked as they
began to walk towards the edge of town. Other people joined them and
Wiktoria nodded as they met on the street. She could handle some of
the small smithy jobs as needed while Pawel was away. She was also
adept with sewing needle and knitting needles, skills she'd passed on
to Jan during the winter days when the snow was too deep to venture
outdoors.
“Yes! And they have wings.”
Jan imitated the wings, holding his arms our and then moving them
forward and backwards.
“That's not how a bird flies,”
he mother said.
Jan almost stumbled as he caught
the concerned look flash across his mother's face.
“Maybe you should wait back in
the shop,” she said.
“Everyone's going to look,”
Jan said. He pointed around to several mothers carrying baby's on
their hips and chatting cheerfully as they walked out to see the
strange clouds.
“Well, all right,” Wiktoria
conceded. “But if I tell you to run back to the shop, promise me
you'll go.”
“Why, momma? Do you think it's
something bad?
“Perhaps not,” she said. She ruffled his
hair like she always did when she didn't want him to worry. She'd
done the same thing when his father had left to fix the city clock
two weeks ago. “But if they are storm clouds there may be
lightening.”
“Yes, that's true,” agreed
Jan. He hoped there was. He like the flash of the lightening and the
deep rumble of thunder that always followed.
“Come along then.” Wiktoria
took his hand in hers and they walked with the growing crowd to the
edge of the town.
A crowd, six rows deep, had
gathered just past the inn that catered to the travelers that moved
through the region. Even the servants of the inn had stepped away
from their duties to watch the approaching clouds.
“They are big.”
Jan turned his attention back to
his mother who was watching the approaching clouds. She shaded her
eyes with one hand.
“Did anyone bring a spyglass?”
asked the town's mayor, Emeric.
Around them people looked at each
other and shrugged.
“Should I go get father's?”
“No, Jan, that won't be
necessary.”
“They're balloons,” someone
said from the front of the crowd.
The clouds had come close enough
now that people could see that there were ten of them. But unlike the
balloon that had offered rides at the carnival, these were not gaily
stripped with vibrant colored cloth. These balloons were dark as coal
and a cloud of black smoke hung around them even as they moved
through the air. Little puffs of cloud trailed off behind them.
“And those aren't wings,”
Jan's mother said.
“They're oars.” Jan looked at
them with wonder.
The wings were oars. There blades
were thick and ran the full length of the oar rib, ending just before
the baskets of the balloons. The oars moved forward with the blades
turned parallel with the ground and then turned as they were pulled
back, catching the air and propelling the balloons forward.
“They can move without wind,”
Jan said. He had quickly realized the value of the oars. “They can
probably move against the wind, like rowing a boat upstream.”
“But why are they here?” asked
the mayor. “And why are they so dirty?”
“Dirty?” asked Jan.
“There's color beneath the
dirt.”
“Soot,” said Jan's mother.
“They're burning something that gives off lots of soot. When Pawel
starts the forge in the mornings it gives off black smoke until the
fire gets hot enough and the air flows through in the right
proportions.”
“Seems like a dirty way to
travel,” said one of the mothers who was carrying her infant child
on her hip. She twitched her hip to raise the child back to a more
comfortable height.
“That still doesn't tell me why
they're here,” said the mayor. He began to push himself to the
front of the crowd.
The balloons were now close enough
for Jan to see that the baskets were like small boats, long and
narrow. There were two oars on each side and he could just barely
discern several people on each oar working together to pull the giant
blades forward and back.
“Jan,” his mother said. Her
voice was hushed and urgent. “Run back to the shop. Now.”
“But mom,” he said. He knew he
wasn't supposed to whine but he was fascinated by the balloons.
“Don't argue, please go now.”
She was pushing and he turned to do as she had bid him.
There was a boom, almost like
thunder, that made him turn back.
“That's a cannon,” said the
mayor.
“Mother?”
“Down!” someone in the crowd
yelled.
Jan was suddenly jerked to the
ground by his mother. He rolled over to see an oversized grappling
hook flying through the air. It passed over them with a whistle of
air and crashed into the side of the inn.
“Go! Go!” His mother was
hauling him to his feet, pushing him before her.
