Wordsmith's Anvil

Image credit: Constantinos Pritsos & me An Important Man May 1804 “There is no need to reveal all that is on your mind. Your qualities will be apparent through your daily actions.” That was a tough one to mull on, but of course Tsunetomo is right. I’ve had difficulty keeping my mouth shut on the best of days, and there are times that the quality can be a good thing. But there have also been times when it's been more than a hindrance. The Marine Corps certainly put that on display. I pondered that sentiment on the day that I cantered into the launch point for our exploration, Camp Dubois. Must’ve been the thirtieth horse since that very first one. I can’t even remember what this one looked like. I just dropped him off at the nearest stables and showed my credentials as an agent of the U.S. government. The stablemaster looked more than annoyed that he wouldn’t be receiving any pay for housing and feeding this extra horse indefinitely, but I couldn’t care less. My thighs were batt...

Image credit: Constantinos Pritsos and ... me. A Fire to be Kindled “What do you know about the Louisiana territory?” President Thomas Jefferson asked. “Very little,” I said. “How would you like to learn more about it?” he continued. “First-hand.” “Is this the expedition I’ve seen discussed in the papers?” I asked. “The one with Meriweather Lewis and…” “William Clark, yes,” he said. “You’d be leaving one corps tomorrow and joining another by the end of the month. The Corps of Discovery.” My heart soared. This could be the opportunity I needed to move forward. All I had to do was take the leap and see what the future held in store for me. “I’d love to.” “It’s settled, then,” Jefferson said. He waved a lanky arm to the disapproving man standing near the door. “Secretary Dearborn will draw up the necessary papers.” Henry Dearborn moved reluctantly from the doorway. I think he had hoped that his only job that evening would have been to open it and usher me out. I disappointed the man, and ...

The Footpad The Phoros slowed to a halt on Triton’s soft sands. Donovan stood at the stern of the ship with his arms folded. He had to mentally prepare himself for what he was to do on the island. It was not that murder was abstract to him, he had assassinated more men and women than he could remember. However, he always took precautions. “You must find a way to make it seem a suicide,” Nicolette had told him back in Tellus. He had been agitated with their exchange but did well to hide his thoughts, counting from one to a hundred and then back down again as the conversation ensued. “I know my job, Madam. Leave the thinking to me.” Nicolette had touched his muscled bicep then and grinned. “Do the job to my satisfaction and you will find me worth more than mere coins.” “The job won’t cost mere coins,” Donovan had replied and moved his arm away from her touch. It was not that the diplomat was not attractive. The footpad figured he would enjoy rutting with her enough, but he never mixed bu...

  The Morrigan: Celtic Goddess of Magick & Might by Courtney Weber  9/10 Epic Over the past couple years, my wife and I have explored spirituality in different directions than the traditional sense. Weber was one of the hosts of my wife's favorite podcast, and her dive into the origins and stories behind several witchy icons caught my attention. The Morrigan, as an entity and not necessarily the book, specifically captured my eye. It was with this line of thinking that I decided to give the book a read, and I must say I was more than pleasantly surprised. Weber weaves an intricate take on the goddess, her influence thoughout Celtic myths, and even ventures into the claims of present day worshippers. For anyone who is looking for explanations as to why those crows and ravens seem to be seeking you out like they have something to say... The Morrigan is a great read. The Silver Spike by Glen Cook  9/10 Epic Glen Cook has quickly become one of my favorite authors of all ...

Image courtesy of Costa Pritsos & Me   The Title 1801 “Everybody get the fuck up right now! Get the fuck out of those racks right now! Get on line!” My voice sounded foreign to me, but somehow that didn’t matter. This role felt great. The raw recruits in the barracks scrambled to get out of their racks and get on the chalk line drawn on their side of the room. Young men wearing nothing but their underwear tripped over one another or the edges of their beds to make it happen, most recovering quickly with just a stubbed toe or a hop and a skip. One sprawled face first on the floor. “Don’t get up,” I told him. “Push.” He knew immediately what I meant. This wasn’t his first day of training, after all. He got himself into a push-up position and started dipping his chest all the way down to the floor, then shoving himself up to full extension. Repeat. And again. After the twentieth one I told him he only had twenty more. Then I moved on. “Count off!” Davidson, my fellow drill instruc...