James Paige

I am pleased to say that my second fantasy novel, Flying Eye Goddess is available to buy here.

You can read more about it at https://james.hamsterrepublic.com/writing/

Ogg Nayboomer and the Fla’arns of Tra’al
James Paige

With formious churnations, Rog Ogg Nayboomer lifted his p’nurk ashurn the lerg mundions of Tra’ali.

“Mullgow Tra’ali!” he began, “our first gronom besets us! Now is the k’lurn to set balsern our trovels, and to take up our marguls and knit!”

“Knit!” chorused the askanseled Tra’ali, clashing their trovels together with great formio.

But Ogg Nayboomer scowled. Snurk among the Tra’alim narselled him. He leaped down from the uld’low, and seized a margul from the aleenest Tra’ali.

“What h’murk of margul is this?” he demanded burmiously.

“One gifted to me ve’sek’varingly by my flune Gloriak.” said the Tra’ali neberously.

“Foma!” bellowed Ogg Nayboomer. “My pleen have never seen an opsorn fla’arnious wagoo than this pegl of a margul. Do you think to change this boozel-knitting from a boozel-knitting to a blurk-floshing?”

“Never” said the aleen Tra’ali.

“I also boast for this Tra’ali,” uttered the lurg Tra’ali boolsern him.

“Do you all boast?” shouted Ogg Nayboomer, looking fulsern the mundion.

“We knit as one!” came the formious de’ponk.

“So be it.” said Ogg. “Knit like the blurkhog of Pummelgog were agstern thee!”

* * * * *

So the lerg mundions of Tra’ali, sat glomsern their polmoons with their trovels mumsern them and they knitted boozels with their marguls from mog’bok until mog’nuk. And Rog Ogg Nayboomer knitted boolsern them. Being the lergest of the Tra’alim, Ogg Nayboomer needed no polmoon, and walked, marguls in p’nurk, as he knitted, overlooking the baleen of the oms.

Sorgenly, Ogg stopped, dropping his boozel and garfing formiously. “Who dares?” he demanded, seizing a margul and holding it sern boomsern his pleens.

The wagoo that he held was bargolly the same fla’arnious margul that he had taken from the blurkey Tra’ali only mog’hark.

“Our glub is facing churmious gronom, and you play Fla’arniak.” roared Ogg Nayboomer.

“But Rog,” said the Tra’ali in de’ponk, “behold my plurn of  boozels!”

Ogg looked amsern, and saw that indeed, the Tra’ali’s plurn of boozels sernly glomed his polmoon.

“How,” demanded Ogg with grof, “How do you so barmiously knit boozels with such a fla’arny margul?”

“Thus did my flune Gloriak teach me.” said the Tra’ali, “for my flune Gloriak and my berf Fla’arn are the same!”

Ogg Nayboomer gasped, and he raised his trovel to do that blurky baleen which he knew he must do.

But the other Tra’alim fulsern him siezed his p’nurks and stayed him.

“Fla’arns! Fla’arns!” shouted the Rog, struggling churnaciously. “All of thee Fla’arns!”

“Flunest Rog,” said the aleen Tra’ali. “We all knit in the blorp of the Fla’arnim. We are lagsorn boozel-knitters and opsorn boozel-fla’arners.”

“We beg toglosity,” said another. “We wogsorn meant to pa’bargol you!” He showed his margul which was also fla’arnious.

Rog Ogg Nayboomer fell to his p’thorks and wept.

After his pleen had no more spurks to shed, he stood, and with great neberosity he spoke “Gronom besets us. If we must knit as the Fla’arniak do, then so be it. The Fla’arn of Tra’al we shall be!”

THE G’NORP

I am delighted to note that my book is now available via a few more distribution channels, particularly amazon which is the cheapest place to buy it if you happen to already be buying enough other books to qualify for free shipping, and createspace which is the cheapest place to buy it if you aren’t buying anything else at all.

Of course, the real cheapest way to read my book is to just read it online for free.

Of course, what I really want to see is for more people to read it regardless of whether or not they actually buy it.

And if you have already read the book (or even just one of the short stories therein) I would be delighted if you would take the time to write a review.

The Old Man Of the Forest became ill. Thinking his days to be coming to an end, he lay down against a big tree, older than himself. He bid his offspring farewell, and sent them away, to walk their own paths.

“I have lived long and well.” He said to himself. “I depart this world in peace.”

And so the pain of death overtook him, and he faded away and died.

But a small part of him did not die. That small part of him remained there sitting beneath the old tree, and he slept, and rested, and regained strength. And when he awoke he was surprised to be still alive.

He stood and looked around him, and felt the bark of the tree, and felt the breeze through his hair. These things felt familiar to him. “Is this what it feels like to be dead?” He wondered.

So he walked through the forest, and his body felt strong, but his spirit felt powerless, and he was somewhat frightened.

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Current mood: scratchy and staticy

I have finally tried my hand at something I have wanted to do for quite some time– a Book on MP3! I recorded myself reading my short story Leviathan. The sound quality is bad, because all I had to record with was my laptop’s build-in microphone, and if you listen carefully you can hear my cat and dog chasing each other around in the background, but overall I think it is pretty listenable. To hear it, go to click here

I offer 1000 cool points™ to anyone who can record a better version of this :)

Current mood: Writerlusting

http://www.nanowrimo.org/
A friend of mine today informed me of the National Novel Writing Month contest. It sounds like a lot of fun, and I haven’t been doing very much writing since my collection of short stories, so the idea of trying to write a 50000 world novel in one month is really very appealing… The catch of course, is that I haven’t had much free time lately (as evidenced by my lamentable lack of block postings here) so whether or not I will be able to pull it off is… debatable.