She was thirsty again, staring at the dust clouds her shuffling boots made beneath a bowed head. Heineken silently bemoaned her parched tongue as she made her way into Florgstein. What was it about this bizarro land that always made her so blasted thirsty? …The Kingdom of Burungdy. Ha! Six months trekking these lands and she still refused to believe any of it was real. Although, that time she had made mincemeat out of the woodsman’s kneecaps had been mildly entertaining. The rest of her time here was akin to being trapped inside some wacky Joss Whedon kind of hell. Everywhere she looked, there were orcs, elves, halflings, dwarfs… and lizard people. Lizards! Gak! She didn’t think she would ever get used to that.

The next thing ya know, I’ll be hallucinating images of Jessica Rabbit doing the tango with Malibu Ken in fields of poppy…

Adventure… Yup, she was answering the call. What a crock of hooey, though. Like, they need to put out an announcement? Every where she turned was a blasted adventure around here. World of Warcraft would play like Dora the Explorer whenever she got back home. …Wherever that was. Heineken sighed, lifting emerald eyes to take in her surroundings. Beer. She needed beer. It was foamy. Beer was good. ‘Cept they call it ale in these here parts. Yeah, whatever. Just give me a drink already.

She knew, even before she slipped unobtrusively through the door, that The Wet Dog was going to smell every bit its namesake. Some things never change. Taking careful note of the patrons inside, Heineken found an empty stool at the bar (closest to the door). Shrugging off her satchel, she placed it on the floor beneath her dangling feet. Damned if everything here seemed like it was made for tall people too. Halflings, she silently mused, now there’s a body I can sympathize with.

Heineken slid two coins forward (one for ale, and one to guarantee quick and continued service), acknowledging the barkeep with a nod. A second nod was given towards whatever they had on tap. If the barkeep had to ask what she wanted to drink, she swore she would be taking back her tip.

–© Stacy Anderson

My friend, Mat Larkin, called me the other day. He had just made up a joke and he couldn’t wait to share it with me. Now, I’m going to share it with you. Aren’t you just the luckiest folks alive?

Question: How do you get an Irishman to vote for Barack Obama?

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Answer: O’Bama

LOL!

C’mon, admit it. You laughed too. If you didn’t, then you need to have your funny bone checked for fractures.

In other news, family life has been keeping me incredibly busy lately. And I’ve made a conscious decision to get serious about my writing, which has involved reorganizing my priorities, for a start.

Bob and I have been reading through Holly Lisle‘s writing clinics, and we have been putting her advice into practice. For the first time, I’m confident that we will accomplish our original writing goal—tentatively, a fantasy/adventure trilogy.

But who knows? It could turn into a series. Either way, I’m excited. It is so, so much fun writing with Bob. It’s even better knowing that we are on the path to attaining our dream.

Now, we just need Bob’s shoulder to heal so that he can type with two hands instead of one.

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