Timewaster's Guide Archive

Okay.  I give in.  I'm sure all of you will just blaze by me, leveling-wise, but I created an undead warlock today by the name of Reanth.  So add me as a friend if you wanna.  I'm only at level 6 and just made it to Brill, but I'll see if I can't catch up with everyone else quickly.  Everyone's headed over to the Barrens area to quest?  What's everyone doing in the way of professions?

I certainly wouldn't be selling them for more than they cost at bookstores (or at used bookstores or whatever, after they're no longer available in bookstores).  However, I don't see anything wrong with an author saying, "If you'd like an autographed copy, and you can't get to my signings, then I'd be happy to let you buy a book from me and I'll send it to you."  You could also state that if people feel like sending their books to you and including return postage, you'd sign them that way, as well.  I'd still think they'd prefer just to pay shipping once.  I look at it as an author providing a nice way for fans to get signed books.  But no--you definitely want to be sure that you don't appear greedy.

One thing I thought of as well was the fact that, if it's true that they're soon to be out of stock at most bookstores, then the price for them will naturally rise, even for used copies.  Just because the books have a little black mark on them doesn't make them used.  They're still usually fairly pristine.  I'd probably sell them for more, or hold back for a bit and see what happens when the book's hard to get.  My reasoning is that since you have a fairly limited supply of these, with no certain prospects of getting any more soon, you can afford to hold off, unless you have limited storage.  For now, if people want to buy a book, they can.  If they want a signed one, then you can certainly offer them that chance.  But why should you be offering a lower price than they can usually buy the book, if you're giving them MORE than what they'd get in a bookstore?  I'd say you could likely sell them for price of the book plus shipping.  You're going through a lot of hoops to make these available . . .

But maybe I'm just a cold-blooded capitalist.

I enjoyed it.  This was the first time I'd read any of the drafts, so my eyes were fresh.  The beginning felt a bit rough--it took me too long to actually get into the story.  Some of that may have to do with the phrase

Hoid, The Liar, Jesk and Lightweaver

I couldn't tell if those were four different people, or one.  Thus, I felt for a bit like I was getting too many names, and I was having trouble keeping them straight in my mind.

The joke about talking to a corpse went on about one time too many for me.  It was fun at first, but use it more sparingly, IMO.

Lightweaving: how can someone just be starting out with it and already know its greatest secret?  That seems a little contradictory.  The magic is still very much fuzzy in my mind, but I'm assuming that's intentional.

Overall, though, you present a character that is intriguing, with a clear cut goal to what he wants to accomplish.  By the end of the chapter, I'm fully engaged in the book, and ready for more.  Now, I ought to get back to my homework.

Word on the street says tonight's episode is a doozy, and that a big piece of the puzzle falls into place.  It's from a geek-reviewer, so I give it a bit more credence than say . . . the weekly promos.  I guess I'll have to wait until tonight to find out.

Well, we've celebrated Talk Like a Pirate Day on the boards before, so perhaps this isn't too far off base.  A friend of mine wrote and directed a movie: Pirates of the Great Salt Lake.  It's screened across the country to very good reviews, but he's having trouble drumming up support from distributors to release the film.  So he's come up with this idea he's called Free the Pirates.  Basically, fans of the film can donate money to get screen credit (for $5) or an autographed DVD when it's released (for $25), or a DVD and autographed poster (for $50), or--if you really have moola--a verbal onscreen thank you along with everything else (for $500).

I'm not asking you to do this just because I asked (because you probably wouldn't anyway), but I'd like to encourage everyone to go over and check out the site.  You can view the trailer, read about the film and the Free the Pirates campaign--the whole bit.  Then, if you feel like you want to, you can donate the money.  I anted up $25, just because I'm going to want to own the movie anyway, and that seems like a reasonable enough price for it.  This isn't your typical LDS comedy--think more along the lines of Napoleon Dynamite.  Eric (the director) is a really nice guy, and he's written some funny stuff.  Go check it out.

Here's the link to their home page:

http://www.piratesofthegreatsaltlake.com/

And here's the link to the Free the Pirates page:

http://freethepirates.com/

I know this is a little necromantic (is that a word), but I thought I'd bring up the fact that this film now has a release date: December 25, 2008.  So it still seems to be on track, for better or worse.  I still think it could be an excellent reboot to the series, and it looks like fans will either have a present or coal in their stockings for Christmas.  Seems like an odd day to release it--why not right before? Though I guess Christmas is on a Thursday that year, so maybe it's the ideal time.

Thanks to those of you who have replied so far.  I've been toying with a first person approach now, and I'd like to put it up.  Think of this like the eye doctor's: better, or worse?

I gasped for air, sucking it into my lungs as if it were the first breath I’d ever taken.  I opened my eyes, but the light was too much, so instead, I just lay there on the wooden floor, twitching and sightless.  What had happened to me?  At last, after what seemed like hours, I took another stab at seeing.  The light still hurt, but once I put my hands to my face and peered out through my fingers, it wasn’t overpowering.

I was under a crude desk, the kind you might find in a schoolhouse: wooden with cast iron braces.  When I turned my head to look elsewhere, I found out the desk was right at home.  What was I doing in a schoolhouse?  I tried to get out from under the desk, but my head started swimming as soon as I moved more than a few inches.

So I tried to figure out what I was doing there.  I didn’t remember entering any schoolhouses, but then again, I didn’t remember much of anything.  My memory started with me gasping for breath, moments before.  I didn’t even recall getting dressed.

I patted down my body, just to be sure.  Yes, I was clothed, and the outfit seemed to be proper: a full suit, complete with vest and jacket and a frilly shirt.  When I wiggled my toes, I could feel stockings and good stout shoes.

It was time for another shot at moving again, and this time, it wasn’t as bad.  After rolling on to my side, I managed to slide out from beneath the desk and drag myself up into the chair, where I sat panting.  I looked around some more.

The room was empty. Rough-hewn logs made up the walls, and desks were arranged in neat rows, all facing the front of the room where a large desk dominated everything else.  On each desk lay a small chalkboard, each blank and ready for use.  A few books were arranged neatly at the main desk, beside which sat a large bag.

I stood up and found my legs could finally support my weight, so I tottered over to the window and looked out.  At least, I would have done just that, except the windows were partly glazed, with holes patched over with the leaves of old copy-books.  I adjusted my necktie, squared my shoulders and strode out the door.

The school-house sat in the middle of an open field, just at the base of a hill covered in trees at the peak of Autumn.  Reds and yellows and browns shivered in the breeze, and I folded my arms tight against my body in an effort to keep warm.  Something in that breeze whispered of danger.  Demons or lost souls, wandering the forest.  I turned from the hill to look elsewhere.

A brook ran close by the school-house, and a large birch tree grew next to the building.  A path led from the door of the school-house down to a road, but other than that, I couldn’t see anything man-made.  No other buildings or fences.  Just nature and a column of smoke rising up into the blue sky.

So much for looking around.  I went back inside.  It felt safer there.  I went up to the main desk and sat down.  It seemed right somehow, as if that were just where I belonged.

The boor banged open and a man barged in, his shoulders filling the door frame.  He had to stoop down to get through, so that all I saw at first was a head of curly black hair.  Then he stood up, saw me, and smiled, all teeth.  Before the man even opened his mouth, I didn’t like him.

“Ha!” the man said.  “I thought there might be others around still.  A cast of seven?  Whoever heard of such a thing?  I’ll bet you’re relieved, too.  What?  Did you think you were trapped in a first person monologue collection?  Perhaps a book of poetry?”  He shuddered, then laughed.

I gaped at him.  What was he talking about?  Trapped in a monologue collection?  Was he crazy?

The man stepped forward and thrust his hand out toward me, and I saw little choice but to take it.  All at once I was caught in a whirlwind of shaking.  “Wulf,” said the man.  “Very pleased to meet you.”

“I’m . . .”  I trailed off.  I didn’t want to admit I had no idea who I was--Wulf seemed like a man who would take advantage of that.
Wulf let go of my hand and stared at me.  “Are you alright?”

I nodded and reached a hand up to feel my neck.  It felt like he might have shaken a couple of vertebrae loose.  “Fine,” I said.  “Just fine.”

“Oh.  Good.  Then let’s go into town.  This place is dead as the grave, out here in the boondocks.”  He turned to leave.  I watched him but made no move to follow, and it didn’t take many steps for Wulf to notice.  He turned back and said, “What’s going on here?  Are you funny in the head or something?”

I blinked my eyes several times then cleared my throat.  I couldn’t fake having a memory, and he was going to find out eventually.  “No.  Or, yes.  I mean, I’m not sure.  I can’t seem to remember . . .”

Wulf roared with laughter, rushing over to pick me up by the shoulders, which didn’t do much to make me like him any more.  “A virgin!” he said.  “Why didn’t I think of that right away?  It didn’t make any sense, you staying out here on your own.  But then I--”  He stopped, then put me down.  I had been dangling with me feet off the floor, feeling for all the world like a trout that had just been caught and clubbed.  I didn’t get much of a break, though; as soon as he let me go, he threw his arm around me in what I’m sure he thought was a conspiratorial fashion.

“Don’t worry,” he said.  “I’ll watch after you.  I’ll keep you in line.  Stick with me, and you’ll be set.”

I tried to get out from his grip, but it was no use.  I seemed to be all bones and no muscle.  “What in the world are you talking about?” I asked.

Wulf let me go.  Thank goodness for small blessings.  “Of course,” he said.  “Getting a bit ahead of myself, aren’t I?”  He spread his arms wide and practically shouted, “Welcome to literature.”

I stared at him.  For someone who looked like he thought he was explaining everything, he left much to be desired.  But he just stood there with that stupid smile on his face, like he had done me the biggest favor in the world.  Finally I said, “And that is?”

He put his arms down.  “I mean you’re a character in your first role.  Your whole life’s ahead of you.  This is a great time in your career.  Sure, maybe your first role’s a little scrawny.  That suit is about two sizes to small, you have ears big enough to be wings and a beak for a nose, but that can all be overcome.”  He slapped me on the back and pointed up at the ceiling.  “With me to guide you, the sky’s the limit.”

I straightened my suit jacket, doing my best to seem like I wasn’t wincing from that backslap.  “You’re not getting any clearer, big boy,” I said.  I was beginning to lose what patience I had.  I touched my ears for the first time.  They didn’t feel all that big.  And a beak of a nose?  Where was a mirror when I needed one?

Wulf nodded.  “Right.  Explanations.  It’s been far too long since I had my own beginning, and I forget what it must be like for you.  I’m about to tell you something that might be a tad upsetting, but I want you to hear me out, alright?”

I swallowed, then nodded.

“Because,” Wulf said, “even if it sounds grim at first, there’s definitely a silver lining.  So be patient, okay?”

I nodded again.  My knees began to feel weak, and the edges of my vision were beginning to tingle.

“Then you’re okay if I tell you?”

“Yes!” I shrieked.  “What is it?  Am I going to die?  Is it demons?  Plague?”

Wulf chuckled and smiled.  “Nah.  None of that stuff.  We’re immune to death, so put that thought out of your head this instant.  You’re a character, little man.  In a book.”

I took my hand down from my mouth and stared at him.  “Come again?”

“You heard me.  It’s like you’re an actor, on in between pages instead of on the silver screen.”