The Web Log is Traveling. Plus Savage Journal Entry 34.

Time for writing a post is limited today. MBW, the HA, and I are en route to Mexico. My ambitious goal is to sit in the sand, watching the waves, and endeavoring to absorb UV rays right up to, but not over the border of, sunburn. I assume cerveza and tequila will also factor in. And work on the current project I’m writing; that never fully comes to a stop.

As you may know, from my frequent, gauche references, I have a new book out: Silver and Bone: Semi-Autos and Sorcery Book Four. If you like contemporary fantasy action/adventure, the Semi-Autos and Sorcery series is probably in your wheelhouse. Check it out. I would be obliged.

Now, the latest from Magnus Stoneslayer.



Life, all existence, is cyclical, dear diary. Large scale, small scale, it all spins back around to where it started. Seriously, it doesn’t matter whether one examines a person or a people: the observer’s eventually going get dizzy from the revolutions.

Take my tribe, for example. Probably the remnant of a once great and dominant, continent spanning empire. “Oh, how far your people have fallen,” some might say in patronizing commiseration. Others – me, for example – would take a slightly different view: having rashly traded noble savagery for the self-built prison cell of civilization, my tribe again ascended to the true state of man after the corpulent civilization it constructed collapsed under the weight of its own unnatural structures. The point is, either way it’s a return to the beginning. Thus it is likely to continue through the eons.

It is much the same with me on a personal level. Alone and imperiled I rose to the command of a ferocious band of desert raiders only to find myself again alone and imperiled. I cannot help but think I will soon be ascending to leadership once again as the wheel of fortune continues its inexorable rotation.

It is that sort of comforting fatalism that smooths the way through the rougher patches of life. Like now. Mounting bare foothills demarcate the end of the sandy wasteland. They’ll have to be climbed. That level of exertion is likely to be problematic, given that I haven’t eaten in three days, my last meal being a stringy lizard too famished and weakened to evade my clutches.

I’ll overcome, dear diary. Never fret. Luck will swing around my way. And if the wheel threatens to stop spinning, I’ll just get behind and push.

Magnus Stoneslayer


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