Got Up and Went
My get-up-and-go
all got up and went
and now I’m old
and tired and bent.
Some days I don’t
feel worth a cent —
I used to be
such a dashing gent!
But so it goes
when your get-up-and-go
is all used up,
when you reap what you sow.
There comes that day
and now I know
I’ve seen the last
of my get-up-and-go.
Stephen Brooke ©2026
some more light verse
Forgotten
Did I never ask to be born
or have I only forgotten things
I once dreamed in my lost darkness?
Existence yearns to exist, to be,
groping after a hidden god
where scraps of memory lie scattered
among the dying silent stars
I thought I glimpsed. They change each time
I try to gather them together,
as with each memory, do you,
shifting this way, that way, in
peripheral, inevitable,
visions. Do you remain as you were?
Do you remember what we asked,
you and I? We understand
too much and care about too little.
knowing dreams of birth and being,
of forgetting and of sleep.
Stephen Brooke ©2026
back to the more obscure stuff!
Slaves
We are the slaves of death;
its shackles may not be shed.
Run, and it will still catch you;
hide, and it will still find you.
Yet one day, it will break
our chains, saying ‘Go.’
Stephen Brooke ©2026
in a vaguely sijo-like form
I wrote the four relatively short books that make up the Donzalo’s Destiny series over something like fifteen months time yet I can, rereading them, see that my style very much matured — improved, I would be inclined to say — during the course of their creation. It became something much closer to what I would call ‘my’ voice. I’m not about to go back and rewrite them or anything of that sort. They’re perfectly acceptable as-are. These were my very first fantasy novels and mark the creation of the entire Izan mythos. It has certainly grown since, and the somewhat murky magic system introduced in Donzalo has become downright scientific in its explanations.
They are also the only novels in which I have used a semi-omniscient point of view. Ultimately, it’s more a matter of multiple POVs but the narrator does occasionally intrude. Not enough to hurt anything; it’s still pretty much the way the characters see things. For the most part, I managed to avoid head-hopping, though in fiction since I have largely restricted myself to one point of view per scene — and, generally, per book.
From time to time, I have posted bits here (or at the Arachis Press blog) about typography, book design, and that sort of thing. It's probably not the ideal place for it but then this is supposed to be my 'everything' blog.
Well, maybe not quite everything. That's why I've fired up a dedicated blog for my design interests, The Far League Ranger. Yes, the Far League Rangers has been my catch-all name for back-up bands and studio musicians over the years but I think I can use it for this as well (and keep hold of the name for other purposes, if desired). I may drop stuff about typography and rest here occasionally but TFLR will be the main place for that now.
I’ve been doing some light research into the use of naturally occurring bitumen, all the way back into prehistory. It’s something of which I knew very little but could certainly be useful knowledge for my writing. A mention in a book I’m reading about the ancient Indus Valley Civilization got me interested.
It seems it was used all the back into the Paleolithic for all the sorts of things other tars might — adhesives, sealants. Hand axes have shown traces of the substance, mixed with clays or other materials, on their broad ends, supposedly to serve as a sort of pad or grip when wielding the stone tools. I had always thought they must have been uncomfortable to hold and use, and apparently our Neanderthals felt the same.
It can be mixed with oils and/or heated to make it more pliable, and spread on baskets or pottery to water-proof. It can be used, obviously, on boats of all sorts (including Native American canoes). In the Indus world, it was even used to line fairly large pools. One can imagine all sorts of uses and I intend to do just that in future fiction. I may just drop some references to it into the next Mora novel. Those Kohari must calk their sewn-together boats with something.
And, to be sure, it would have been an object of trade, a resource to be discovered, exploited, protected. The original black gold? Well, maybe not quite that valuable but a ready source would still be worth something.
