tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92031183748897486322025-03-24T22:45:57.065-04:00Nerd-verse, ho!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-28407470260619701042015-11-17T12:56:00.001-05:002015-11-17T12:56:26.727-05:00

As well-intentioned as we may be, it's not our place as non-Muslims to declare what is Islamic or un-Islamic. If you aren't a practicing or devout Muslim, or at least well-versed and well-studied on the Koran and associated written works, you cannot condemn Daesh or any militant jihadists as un-Islamic. In the same way that we couldn't take the doctrinal critique of Pope Francis's Encylical

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-39512471576973949272014-04-15T11:52:00.000-04:002014-04-16T12:28:47.193-04:00

I still write by hand.  Granted, I also type an awful lot -- last I checked, I clock about 75 WPM, and that's with my unorthodox typing style that primarily utilizes my pointer fingers, thumbs, and pinkies -- but when it comes to sitting down and writing creatively, I still, always have, and will continue to write by hand. I've often been asked by friends, family, concerned onlookers

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-68745309481433668962014-02-27T15:38:00.000-05:002014-02-27T15:38:57.472-05:00

Last Vigil By Blake Tan Continued from part three: She woke before the sun as she often did, the lamp at her desk dimmed, her back sore from the chair and her bed covers untouched. Jehanni had not slept lying down for what felt like an age. When she stood, she stretched to crack her back, her knees, and her shoulders. Age was catching up to her, but Jehanni would race ahead for as long as

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-58712350873541511732014-02-10T18:51:00.003-05:002014-02-11T01:03:00.200-05:00

Last Vigil By Blake Tan Continued from part two: Battle filled her dreams. Centaurs swarmed over the hills, their hooves kicking dust so thick she could only see their vague outlines as they closed the gap on the caravan. “Seraph! Form line,” her throat dry and scratchy with dirt, bellowing over the din as her squad formed up around her. Two ranks, the front rank kneeling, their rifles

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-30375179590534151872014-02-10T17:58:00.000-05:002014-02-10T18:53:40.828-05:00

Last Vigil By Blake Tan Continued from part one: Geirmund Gavelfist shook with disbelief, the laughter erupting from him like a geyser, globs of spittle and ale spraying down his chin. Beside the norn, Tactician Eris was more reserved, her lips silently forming words, as if in deep conversation. When Jehanni had asked her about it, Eris claimed she was communing with the Pale Tree, but

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-56402662365893195922014-02-10T17:24:00.001-05:002014-02-11T11:46:19.509-05:00

Last Vigil By Blake Tan “Compliments from the marshal, warmaster.” Jehanni looked up from the reports scattered across her desk, the magitech lamps flickering in the dim gloom of her makeshift office. Backlit by the moonlight outside, the messenger stood with an easy, unassuming posture, half slouching, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and his mask pulled down around his neck to

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-8616942275412512052013-11-05T16:23:00.001-05:002013-11-05T16:23:23.906-05:00

Let this month of madness begin! If you don't already know, November is National Novel Writing Month. During this time, authorial hopefuls such as I embark on a grand adventure with the the ups and downs of a drug-induced manic episode. There will be tears. There will be hardship. And hopefully, there will be pants-wetting, joyous celebration when December 1 rolls around and we hold up our

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-79495829754330374582013-07-15T21:52:00.000-04:002013-07-15T21:53:31.506-04:00

The Countess and the Artist By Blake Tan Reclining in a lounge seat in her parlour, her crimson shawl draped carelessly over her shoulder, Varvara Golovina did not look the commanding, imperial presence she seemed at court. She looked distraught, fanning herself with her free hand while she sipped from a frosted glass. “Louise,” the countess said when she noticed the French exile standing

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-77867896715964856822013-04-02T19:53:00.001-04:002013-04-02T19:58:53.998-04:00

A properly formed firing line. Photo courtesy of HvZ Athens. I have been fighting the good fight, resisting the onslaught of the living dead on Ohio University's Athens campus, for three years. I have played over eight games, counting the fall and spring games, invitationals, and  even a winter game. I have stood the line against shambling (and not-so-shambling) hordes of zombies hungry

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-90338169964650035352013-03-30T13:07:00.001-04:002013-03-30T13:14:11.198-04:00

A Darker Kind of King: Kenneth Branagh's Henry V A flash of fire upon a matchstick illuminates Derek Jacobi’s face. He is alone in a moody sort of darkness, shrouded except for the thin light he holds up to his face. In the opening scene of the 1989 version of Henry V, the director and auteur Kenneth Branagh sets a much darker, realistic tone for the film in comparison to the earlier

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-55202947836628168202013-03-08T20:31:00.001-05:002013-03-30T12:45:11.625-04:00

To start, let me say that I love Guild Wars 2. Like many original Guild Wars fans, I pinned all my hopes for an MMO onto ArenaNet's return to Tyria. For the most part, Guild Wars 2 delivers. I'm as engrossed in the world and the game as much, if not more so, than any MMO to date. Unsurprisingly, of course, not everyone is happy.  Despite Guild Wars 2's critical and commercial

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-60354412594522619652012-11-14T09:37:00.000-05:002013-03-30T13:14:23.872-04:00

This is another installment in my Maric di Ascalon series, but is actually a revision of an earlier story I wrote last year, adapted for Maric and Sphaeren. The earlier draft was called "We are Knights". I'd like to see if people think this adaptation works. "Blood in the Snow" by SadinaSaphrite on deviantART. Honorable Men by Blake Tan The quiet fell among them like an ashen snow.

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-70729466088972369902012-11-13T20:25:00.001-05:002013-03-30T12:47:09.018-04:00

Slick, sexy and stunning. All three words describe the most recent installment in the James Bond franchise. Daniel Craig reprises his role as Agent 007 in “Skyfall,” facing down death, destruction and the newest (and arguably best) villain since Goldfinger in Javier Bardem’s cyber-savvy terrorist, Silva. “Skyfall” is like several Bond movies in one, hitting all the high notes and

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-42710712780674547062012-11-05T18:51:00.000-05:002012-11-13T20:34:36.531-05:00

As a fantasy writer, I have that unique problem of getting a bit lost in my own worlds. Sometimes I forget that I'm supposed to be writing a narrative and get lost in the colorful histories that happen in the background. This post is a perfect example. The Maric di Ascalon stories take place in a medieval world, one ruled by kings and other high lords. The sigils of these powerful

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-62499269658562402022012-11-02T15:19:00.000-04:002013-03-30T13:14:26.167-04:00

I present yet another part of the Maric di Ascalon cycle. Chronologically, this takes place a few years after "The Swordmaster" and in collection will probably sit afterwards too. I'd also like to take a moment to point out that these are in no way final versions and a lot is subject to change. I'm just of the school of thought that perfection isn't everything; I want you, my dear reader, to

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-14683303707934373092012-10-24T00:40:00.006-04:002013-03-30T13:14:28.828-04:00

Behold: the first glimmerings of my fantasy magnum opus! I've been working on my own heroic cycle for a long time now -- a lot of that time was spent developing a world that both echoed the familiar themes of the genre while pushing for its own unique identity -- and the culmination of that work is what I am tentatively calling the Maric di Ascalon short stories, set in the universe of

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-61495200356002102862012-10-13T16:45:00.000-04:002013-03-30T12:47:46.013-04:00

Revolutionary Day By Blake Tan Carlos Villabuena was born on the west end of Pasaquinas, near the municipal center of Pasaquinas City, in 1952. His mother was the fourth child of a family of seventeen, the oldest daughter, and had met his father, Luis Sanchez Villabuena, when she attended the Santa Clara College for Women in 1946. He was the dashing son of an aristocratic family from the

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-26404141248985924352012-10-10T17:47:00.002-04:002013-03-30T12:50:06.871-04:00

Confessional Booth By Blake Tan “Speak, mi hijo, confess your sins so the Savior can forgive you,” says the padre behind the screen. Amado squirms in the rickety room, the confessional booth creaking. His mama had yanked him off the fence where he liked to sit and admire the schoolgirls as they marched to the Santa Maria preparatoria atop the hill, their blue plaid skirts hiked up

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-21430124250396622732012-10-08T13:39:00.005-04:002013-03-30T12:48:50.361-04:00

Strategy games have always held my rather short attention spans longer than most other games. There's a draw that strategy games, whether it's grand strategy (Crusader Kings II), RTS (Starcraft, Company of Heroes), or turn-based (Civilization), that keeps me around longer than a hectic, story-lite FPS or even RPGs nowadays. When I first saw a preview of XCOM: Enemy Unknown in a

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-15254294916747095112012-09-12T15:50:00.002-04:002013-03-30T12:48:54.068-04:00

Garamba National Park By Blake Tan Twenty-two dead elephants, including several very young ones, clumped together on the open savanna, many killed by a single bullet to the top of the head. A field of massive bones – ribcages, skulls, meter-long femurs – a testament to the slaughter. The tusks had been hacked away, but none of the meat. Greedy hyenas with human grins stretched

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-67006546227978065112012-07-30T17:22:00.000-04:002013-03-30T12:49:04.403-04:00

My Red Lady By Blake Tan It’s amazing how much things can change. Nights I used to wake up in torment, you hanging over me, a spirit conjured up by my sleep, white, cold fingers wrapped around my heart, crushing and squeezing until it fought no more. I couldn’t let myself heal over. No one else to fit the wound in my breast, to staunch the bleeding. All I’d see was your face

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-30969959830838407902012-07-29T17:11:00.000-04:002013-03-30T12:50:12.110-04:00

You may not know this about me, but I am something of a ukulele enthusiast. I've always been interested in the instrument. It's like a guitar, but little and cuter! So, last year I was perusing the local stores in Athens when I came upon a little place called the The Tone Zone where I found a series of ukuleles hanging on the wall in the brightest and coolest colors you could conceive. I

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-72708431814068841912012-06-11T17:10:00.000-04:002013-04-09T13:36:54.489-04:00

When you watch Star Wars, do you clap your hands like a giddy toddler when Red Squadron forms up for their assault on the Death Star? Do you want to be Tom Cruise in Top Gun, shooting down enemy fliers like the ace pilot you always knew you were? Yes? Then, Moon Breakers may be just the game for you -- it's space dogfighting at its funnest, and it's really not that difficult to learn.

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-42200747466756268372012-06-06T14:10:00.001-04:002013-03-30T12:50:17.224-04:00

You may recognize this poem, or at least parts of it, because it's been posted here before. But this is the most recent draft. All poetry is in a constant state of revision; there is never a final state. That's what I actually love most about the medium. If you want to compare it with the earlier draft, here is the link. Summertime By Blake Tan I loved this girl in the summertime and I

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9203118374889748632.post-78366254061267339752012-06-05T13:35:00.001-04:002013-03-30T12:54:23.033-04:00

Kyle Newport Eric Sagonowsky Court Street in the afternoon is nowhere near as busy compared to a fest weekend. A spring day in Athens, Ohio: the flowers are blooming, the sun is shining, and students are breaking out the kegs for the fest season. From High Street to Mill Street, these block parties dominate the Ohio University social scene, to the displeasure of city and university

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16089766122693018349noreply@blogger.com0