To Pun or Not to Pun

I’ve look back at my life every couple of years and I marvel at how much has changed. It’s been five years since we moved to our new home. It’s been three years since I left school. It’s been two years since I started the totally annoying qualification that I’m doing right now.

Making new friends everywhere you go is a given. But you know that not all friends remain in your contact list till the end of eternity. True, there comes a point in every man or woman’s life where they either lose a phone or a sim, (most often both)

But that’s not what I mean. What I mean is, not everyone survives to make it to the new list on the new phone.

You meet new people, you sort of bond, and then by the second week find out that you’ve become a group, all for one and one for all; but then by the time whatever brought you together has ended, you go your separate ways. Some of those guys might still keep in touch for years afterwards, but there will always be those few who drop out of sight and surface only occasionally, if ever at all.

But even then, as you go on, there will be those few stubborn ones that cling onto you like barnacles and refuse to let go. These are the people you look to in times of need, and they will usually help you. And these are the guys who look to you for help in their own time of need, and you’re honor bound to wield sword at their side, come dragon or fire breathing debt collector.

Of Twisted Jacks and Broken Melodies

I am in shock. I am in denial. But the evidence is there, in all its bare, blunt truthfulness.

My headphones have died.

I keep trying to plug it in, twisting the green jack this way and that; but the sound remained distorted, the voices kept sounding no more than faint echoes in the background, and the music was still horrible.

It’s been hardly six months since we first met. There it was, in a plastic Imation cover that took me half an hour to open and cost the life of a scissor and chip off the kitchen knife.

It… we just connected the moment I first slipped it over my head and cranked the volume up. The clarity of sound… it was magical. And after being forced to use a pair of normal Nokia earphones that kept tangling up and falling out of my ears every so often, this was just simply beautiful.

The said Nokia headphones also were not supported by my laptop for some reason or other. Because of that, the only way I could use them was if I did not plug it fully in; just halfway. Fully in would mean a jumble of sounds and disruption of voices, but halfway in, the voices would be clear. But the cost; music still sounded strange, and sound effects were dubious at best.

It was better than nothing till my Imation headphones came along. Then, everything changed. My very way of laptop usage was redefined, revamped, revitalized. Movies, much more watchable. Games, much more survivable. 

But alas, all good things come to an end. And my headphones had to go.

On The Whooshiness of Time

Well, would you believe it? Post number twenty. I made it, the big two-oh. Never would have guessed I’d be here gloatingly stating these words

Is it just me, or has the second ten whooshed by faster than the first? Certainly feels that way. It’s gotten easier since I started, certainly. And with all the encouragement I’ve had from all the awesome people I’ve met; I certainly don’t feel like stopping now.

And I stand by my claim that taking Mathew Wordweaver to Facebook is and probably always will be one of the best decisions I’d ever make. All the great people I’ve met and spoken to, well, it was worth it. And then the few close personal friends who know who the guy behind the mask is: you guys are awesome. You keep helping me do what I do, and man, I am grateful.

Looking back on all I’ve done now, I realize again what my pal N has been telling me is pretty much true; my work has improved since I began. No, I’m serious, and yes, I know that I am saying so myself, which you would probably think might be sort of narcissistic. No, I’m not a narcissist, and yes, I know I’m saying that myself, too, which would make you think I’m in denial. So no, I am definitely not in denial, and you know what, forget it, moving on.

Right now, I realize something that didn’t seem too obvious at the time; but all the stuff that I posted in January? Now I feel it was sort of an intro, about who I am, what I do, and what’s important to me.  That was me getting the feel of writing a blog, so to speak.

Medieval Research: The Classy Crossbow

(This post is related to the one I wrote on bows earlier on. You can find that one here)

In the time of The Black Prince (roughly the 1300s), archers were pretty much respected for the skill they had, especially with the longbow. And it was one heck of an art; archers had to build up arm strength from childhood; practice for years, and at that period, would probably never do anything else in life other than shoot arrows. Live an archer, die an archer, and more often than not, the latter would be on the battlefield with your bow in your hands. Glorious, indeed.

Of skeletons found that date back to medieval times, it is fairly easy to identify the ones that belonged to longbow archers. Apparently, the spines would be all twisted out of shape, and the bones in the right arm near the elbows were reportedly deformed. Kind of morbid, I know, but it goes to show how difficult their training was, and how much a part of their lives it played. If you really want to know more about  this, you can go here. Otherwise, moving on...

  

On Pens That Gave Swords Something to Swing At

I don’t know what it is about swords, spears and arrows that fascinates me. To me, nothing beats witnessing a good charge down a rocky slope, hooves pounding, voices roaring, spears flashing, and a line of the enemy standing firm, shields raised, spear points bristling.

Nothing, except for some good vanilla ice cream and a whole Monday of relaxation after getting back from a three hour commute. That’s something else, entirely.

But, on swords and stuff? There’s almost nothing that can surpass that sort of thrill. I mean, just look at this:

Tell me you don’t feel good now, and in the mood for a LOTR movie. I know you do.

Of Ups and Downs and Dizzy Flies

             Normally when you get a story that’s meant to give you some sort of moral, there’s this pattern that story follows.

You get the story. Sometimes there’s this little opening sentence before it, sometimes not. And as for the story itself, it may be short, it may be long, it may be insightful, or it may not. And then there, at the end, you get the point of the whole endeavor in one to two lines, the moral of the story that you’re supposed to take away with you. I say ‘supposed’ because, let’s face it, most of us forget the entire thing a few minutes after we’re done. Don’t deny it, you’ve been there. We all have.

So, the story, the tale, true or not, that you find yourself reading. Some of the time, it may be glaringly obvious what the moral is once you’re done. Other times, you might be left wondering what in the world the ‘moral’ had to do with the story.

Me, I prefer to follow this method most of the time. Why, you ask? It’s tried and tested, and it allows me to ramble on without the hassle of needing to stick to some old boring point. Once I reach the end, I add some random phrase from somewhere and pretend that it was what I was taking about the whole time.

Medieval Research: The Beautiful, Brutal Bow

Here we are, finally. The post on archery that was long coming. I’m feeling much better now, thanks for asking, so let’s get twanging.

First thing you guys should know is that I was originally planning to make this one a standoff between the two bows of the medieval times; the longbow and the crossbow. I would have made it one short post with random facts from each, but soon enough I realized; there is just way too much awesome information out there for me to ignore. Seriously, did you know that trained archers never fired more than six arrows a minute in battle? Any more and they would risk injury. Aye, that’s hardcore.

Anywho, one meagre post barely gives these beautiful weapons any justice. So I decided to make this particular piece part one of two; and with that in mind, I give you today, the bow

Sample: The Legend of Charezahn

It’s been a week since I first started sneezing, but I’m still far from recovery. I have no idea what sort of vindictive bug this one is, but one thing for sure, it’s nasty.

Try as I may, I could not get myself into the mood to start on the Longbow post, which I had planned to have up here instead of this one. Stuff happens, though, and you have to make the best of it.

Lucky for me, I had already begun chapter one of Charezahn earlier, so I thought I’d put up a sample of it here this time. It needs plenty of work, and I’m very aware that it’s not fit for print; but I’m just too darn tired to put up anything else right now.

Following is an excerpt from chapter one of The Legend of Charezahn. If you think I should continue, please let me know. Thanks.

Of Delusions and Dog Whistles

’Twas the first of March, and I woke up sick.

Right away I knew it was going to be one of those days. I hadn’t even woken up properly at 8 in the morning, and the sneezes had already begun.

The common cold was no stranger to me, nor I to it. That said, I really have to stress that I didn’t welcome it as often as one would think, our twenty year old acquaintanceship considered. But it was like one of those visitors who show up at your front door one day, with two duffel bags at their feet, and announce that they’re staying for the weekend.

And no matter the hints you pass or the blunt in-your-face orders to get out that you deliver, it still tweaks your cheek and settles deeper into the couch; which in this case happens to be your sinuses.

Or mine.

In any case, the repeated sneezes had me down all day. I feeling a little light in the head, or in any case, I was feeling it a bit lighter than usual. But even as I sat there, huddled in front of my laptop under that comforting piles of blankets, I wasn’t too worried.

After all, it was just a few sneezes (per minute) and a general tendency to shiver every once in a while. How bad could it get, I asked myself. I was all for betting it would clear up by the next day.

Little did I know what I was in for.