Topher Lydon
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Everything posted by Topher Lydon
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actually it's been the opposite, it's been Peter doing the "Awww hell no" and West doing the "Hey you know, maybe..." And let's face it if there was a new sprog, it'd have three elder brothers, two doting uncles (one of whom has a Prime ministerial jet) And a stay at home Artist... West is the more active agent, much more so than Andrew ever was, so I can see that being a factor... they have a long conversation coming.
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That thing is going to have freckles, killer looks, and a temper that will shake mountains. Poor old Daddy West is going to need a shotgun come 16.
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I mean, he is the KING of Vain.
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Peter's biological clock just clicked on... I think he's doomed.
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Doc and I were discussing this chapter last night ( I was up half the night working on it )
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It is a catastrophic scenario. Watching a Superpower humbled and brought to its knees by a History teacher with a pocket watch. I honestly think that Russia and China's reactions are of utter shock. I draw a lot of inspiration from the Ukraine that has been fighting an Assymetrical war, using it's creativity, and it's leader's sheer power of will for years. I would imagine the war in the Ukraine would kick off earlier, and Russia would be maneuvering for a Spring offensive. But reality of Covid changes things, it is strange to say but in this scenario Covid may actually save the world.
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Will isn't done punishing the President yet. The President walked up behind a Polar Bear and kicked it in the balls... what happens next is entirely justified.
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:: whistles innocently ::
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Prompt Team Genre Event - *Now Live!*
Topher Lydon commented on Valkyrie's blog entry in Writing World
that was one of the most challenging things I have written in a long time, thank you for taking me out of my comfort zone, and into something new and interesting.- 18 comments
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The Stonemason’s Son and the Silk Prince: A Story Written in Water and Stone Part I: The Wat and the World The jungle did not merely surround Wat Ksach; it breathed upon it. In the heavy, golden hours of the afternoon, steam rose from the moss-clad laterite walls, and the chittering of a thousand insects formed a resonant blanket of sound over the chants of the monks. Within the cool, dim sanctuary of the scriptorium, the world was reduced to the smell of ink made from lampblack and
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Heartbroken Ashok seeks wisdom in his quest to heal The prince that loved him has married another And in the ancient kingdom of the Khmer, answers are found in the river, and in the stone.
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Chapter Sixteen Sunday, December 22nd, 2019. 9:15 A.M. EST. WORLD END: T-minus <error the author hates this thing screw it.> 24 Sussex Dive, Ottawa, Ontario The kitchen at 24 Sussex was usually a chaotic ecosystem of burnt toast and shouted homework questions, but under Madam Xuě’s supervision, it had transformed into a sterile lecture hall that smelled faintly of Peter’s scones and antiseptic focus. The Sprogs—Alex included—were hunched over the scarred farmhouse
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I have to, in a future book, have Brian and Kenny borrow a real tank... why those two? Because those two out of the four, are the only two who'd get away with it!
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Bobby shot the trough, the table, a lantern, a couple of posts.... and Mrs. Katz's prize Petnunia planter! Len got a few windows, and a few signs. Tam was just happy to be included. Timmy got a particularly deadly thistle when he sat on it.... all in all the Ridge Army was quite successful and their mom's were very proud of them.
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I also kind of like that he lost the fist fight, humanizes him. He's a city boy being brave, not Rambo. Plus the Sovereign State of Horse needed a moment to remind Cobb that he touched HIS Theo inappropriately, and that hooves in delicate places are a fraction of the pain he is owed for that.
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I am imagining that Jack just gave a snort of "You're a wuss" and picked him up with his teeth and plopped him there... with a silent, judging stare.
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I admit <.< >.> I was hoping no one would pick up on the hip broke horse on thing ....
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Bang Bang, my baby shot me down.
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Chapter 19: The Quick and the Dead The silence in the town square was not an absence of sound, but a presence. It was a physical weight, a heavy, dusty pressure on the chest, making the warm, still air hard to breathe. A huge, bone-white moon hung in a black velvet sky, bleaching the color from everything, making the shadows under the boardwalks deep and impenetrable as wells. The scents were of cooling earth, dry wood, and the sweet, coppery tang of impending violence that seemed
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There is a cost for this war. For Will For Andrew and For West. But they are making that sacrifice for the people that matter most to them: For Jacob, Tommy, Weston, and good old Uncle Peter.
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Incredibly brave of him to agree to it. That's an Order of Canada when the dust settles. I've been pushing an Operation Mincemeat narrative with this, give the enemy just enough to make a narrative up in their own minds. The unstable, grieving psychopath with his hand hovering over the button. The trace of the bombs, the letter, Tremblay. The categorical denial that looks like a Brag. And the promise to take something the President really cares about.
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There are moments, and there are moments. God, if one believed in him, uses people as his hands and acts through them. Small acts of kindness in a world lost to madness and cruelty. And the capacity for simple human kindness such as Darlene was a reminder that there were good people on each side of the divide. Working hard, giving when they saw need, and being his hands.
