#amwriting And yes I do write/edit at times

Still working but not a lot.

Re-write of the start.

Dave

It was always considered a co-incidence that all Admirals met the Dwarvian Naval maximum height limit of four foot two inches and black eyes … blue eyes were never seen … Blues or Old Stock – as they were called, were a throwback to an old life form that ruled before the five families took over and slaughtered everyone who did not match their ideals or doctrines – they call them ‘Old Stock’ and killed them out of hand wherever and whenever they found them.

Another race they also distrusted but used for their bureaucracy were the Elves and they kept them as virtual prisoners although this never seemed to bother the Elves who just became even more bureaucratic and infuriating.

Old Stock could also heal and that annoyed the ruling families. If they cured people, what was the point in the Dwarfs killing or hurting them; the ruling family’s squads never stopped looking for someone who looked different.

James Droga, in his Hell-Cat looked at the two screens in front of him, and especially at four foot two inched Martan Matira and then deliberately yawned at Martan while he ruffled his red hair.

That their hair, size and eyes were the same meant nothing, and no hint was ever made of surgery although the rumours were always there concerning the ruling families, especially the red hair which all seemed to have and that they always made the naval height requirement. For some reason they all to seemed to wear and probably sleep in the blue and black naval uniform

James Droga considered Martan Matira to be soft but then he detested David Jamesson as well. Neither had the guts to just kill and get on with life.

To James, they might meet Navy rules for red hair, black eyes and height restrictions of four foot two inches but they lack the blood on their swords and banners that to a Droga meant pride – pride in the people you killed; the planets you crushed and the prisoners you took.

Their families might be bound by ancient bonds or so they claimed but James had a few debts to pay and they wouldn’t appear in his black book.

The Admirals ignored comments on why they travelled to a very secure site to then appear as images in the council Chamber after their bodies had been inserted into tubes and protected by Guards …?

Somehow it had never stacked up that if they were so loved and respected why were their bodies stack up in the secured facility.

Now over the site their Hell-Cats circling on auto identified a small landing area some two hundred foot below the cliff peak. The Hell-Cats were named after a famous Admiral, nicknamed the Hell-Cat for his bedroom adventures.

The planes were said to be as honourable as he was which meant that were very fickle in their manoeuvrability and difficult to control at the best of times, however they hovered well and could land when handled by good pilots.

A road ran from just above the bottom of the cliff drop and it sprinted into the distance, jutting out for about thirty feet from the cliff edge as it ran, which given the Dwarfs dropping down was probably a good idea; if a road could actually run, this road would have run as they approached it!

The hell-cats found room to land without killing any of the waiting Guards although that didn’t bother the Dwarf Admirals who seemed to like killing as others like living.

They landed separately into a grey misty morning. The sun was bright and struggling to break through the dirt, stone and water the hell-cats were throwing up and the Guards, who’d stood guard for hours were not enjoying this as the Admirals began to land.

Martan Matira, snorting in his thick accent, was big for a Dwarf although he now needed two Guards to help him move about and his weight made movement slow.

Martan was swiftly followed by David Jamesson whose tones and voice were at least moderated although compared to James Droga who was bellowing like a stuck pig and to a degree looking like one; anyone was!

It took another half hour before James Droga finally decided to land – the Droga’s being the most minor of the ruling Parties and therefore stood on their pride and everyone else’s, if given a chance. The Admirals finally arrived outside the entrance to the cave – due ceremony went by the elbow; usually into the other Dwarfs. Passing Guards jumped in to separate the Admirals fighting each other.

Guards, mixing loyalty to their families with fear of the Admirals uppermost in their minds, bore their weapons high but there was no sense in what the Admirals were doing – hundreds of thousands killed for planets they never wanted or wars that had no meaning; knowing full well the Admirals had no loyalty to them or anyone else but themselves and several Guards were looking incredulous as the ships tried to land on them. The Droga’s, Matira’s and Jamesson families loomed even more however, and now they were killing Dwarfs who did not agree – it was wrong! Admirals relied on Guard’s loyalty or the Guards were killed and the Guard’s families knew loyalty was on the cutting edge and the Admirals held the cutting edge.

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#amwriting #wip As usual I want it perfect

People read my stuff here and I apologise that I keep going back and editing it.

Most of what I’m doing now is trying to put the stuff in that makes it into a story.

Structure is very good but characters that actually live are what is needed or in my wife’s words, you are finally writing a story.

Yes, Jean. I’ve finally cleared my mind for writing. I need to get up to speed again and this beast is nearly the best top of the range spec I could buy.

Hand-built, it peeded off the guy who came in to finally make it work and he thinks, quite rightly, I’m a loonie for doing it, but every piece of this box is standard. I know where it goes; I know where replacements go; I can replace everything and dynamic Raid 1 holds my writing, it has a high spec GPU so when do I internet research and write at the same time I get, via two co-ordinated ethernet links the performance of a gaming machine so the Internet images don’t slow the machine down.

It runs a touchpad, a graphics tablet and a mouse at the same time if I have that many hands, plus Dragon Naturally speaking.

The screen is a bendy long wide screen so I can have full vision on writing and Internet access and the system took a few months to build.

It is also mirrored in terms of operating system and backups with another machine.

Now, all I have to do, is honour it with some decent writing.

regards

Dave

 

James Droga, Martan Matira and David Jamesson met in a small chamber, hardly big enough to take their beards.

They stood upright before the capsules as if supplicants seeking safety.

The capsules: silver; resembled a cross between French Japanese Politically cheap hotel capsules.

Staring into one screen; your political future pushed into another, allowed a button – ensuring you stood as cracked as the stone was?

A cracked and crackling square exploded into colour and light danced around them taking their minds off a capsule erupting longways before reverting to vertical.

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#amwriting #wip Some of the start is coming together

Tried to pack a lot in, today and it isn’t finished by a long chalk.

Most of it seems to be what I should have been writing in the first place but so much more needs ‘more writing’ and I will never get anywhere if I keep taking characters backwards to explain their lives but back I will come until I’m happy with it.

I started; actually writing a simple fantasy; now I’m writing a kind of Space Science go primitive and that has been written by many.

How a planet is pupped or populated is beyond my mind so we go back to some science fiction start, ‘to start it’.

Been done before and will be done it again.

I did get a bit of the start writing done, so here it is.

regards

Dave

James Droga, Martan Matira and David Jamesson met in a small chamber, hardly big enough to take their beards. Each one pushed a button before entering and a capsule erupted longways before reverting to vertical. They strapped themselves in; the outer levels closed and the capsules now resumed a horizontal position before retreating into a chamber where each Dwarf now was slotted into a position where he was fully protected and then projected into the Dwarvian Political House as an image. As the Ruling Parties they did not allow themselves to be subject to attacks in the house and their blood would not flow. Within the capsules they were protected against everything as Ruling Parties, unless of course they were removed and forced to physically be in the Chamber and probably dead within seconds of doing so. With the support of the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s they had no challengers but you don’t take risks on Dwarvia.

The Dwarfs did not often ‘moot’; it was a melding of minds that knew honesty and that to a Dwarf was weakness. If a Dwarf had to be honest then he was weak. A Dwarf walked tall, decided and the weak would wail … at the moment, this Policy appeared to have a few problems – the riots, slaughter and prisoners being a major problem.

James Droga, Martan Matira and David Jamesson tried to ‘moot’ and usual failed. It was as if they held a meeting in different languages. Their mental barriers were in full flood mode and closing up even as they were supposed to open.

They switched to the Chamber meeting and to jeers as their images arrived.

Their images moved to the central floor and the four sided stone. Their images stood at three places of the stone and now, twenty others crowded around the other side and also them.

James Droga took his time as he stared around him, eventually, he spoke, “What do you rabble want?”

Your images can stay here; your bodies are already being removed.”

You cannot touch us. We rule,” said Martan Matira.

You rule no longer. You have killed and virtually destroyed Dwarvia, Martan Matira. Your images will stay here and your bodies will stay in the capsules until you and your families are sent into space. As you like prisoners so much, sixty thousand of them will accompany you in three ships to the outermost ends of space – you not will return, no matter what you believe!”

Who are you to say this. You have no authority. We are the Ruling Families!”

I am Geld Du Storme and this is Neville De Bowed and by the rights of the Ruling Council – sick of your killing – you will be held in custody until transported – it will take some forty years but you will not be aware of that as you will be put into Stasis until you disposed off.”

For information:

The space map on the roof of the Dwarvian Political House pictured a lot of things – usually the latest conquests although they’re were more battles in the Political House than were ever fought outside; the Admiral’s Political parties fought as much for their Political conquests as they did for their egos in the house and blood was usually piped out of the Chamber with the troughs running by the feet of most members to remind them to vote according to their conscience.

It wasn’t a question of the seventh knife, they were struggling to get up to three before someone else stabbed them in the back.

Often Dwarvia seemed to be nothing more than a transit camp for prisoners and a picture show across the roof with split-second updates and the commentators were now becoming more famous than the battles and what most Admirals hated, they were more famous than the Admirals.

The Droga’s, Matira’s and Jamesson’s had essentially ruled; all were blue eyed dwarfs grown to about 5 foot 4 – the maximum height for the Space Corp.

In the Space Corp they spent most of their lives staring at the ceiling and complaining when a conquest was missed, usually because they weren’t involved. They were assisted by the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s resources but between the Admirals there was little tolerance of anyone else – even their own kin and the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s were never trusted with foresight, and once again they were wrong … the De Bowed’s and the Du Storme’s had forsight.

What was unusual for the Dwarfs was that they did sometimes worked together until they realised they couldn’t trust anyone, included themselves.

It was usually a case of Dwarf eat Dwarf and they didn’t worry about whether there was any relish to go with the Dwarf they beat into pulp first.

Had the Admirals thought, they had been talking about the four hundred thousand prisoners scattered across Dwarvia and the ruling party’s were not having a ball as two hundred thousand prisoners rioted.

A further problem was the smaller Dwarvian Political Groups mustering enough votes after the latest bout of killing of prisoners and the latest bout of killing Politicians; laying the blame directly at the major houses who decided that blasting them in the standard Dwarvian way was the only answer.

The Ruling Lords had now killed over four hundred thousand Dwarfs and levelled major areas of the cities. Now the Political Houses were demanding a solution but the War-loving Admirals held the De Bowed and Du Storme’s to blame for the carnage and they made them even more enemies!

Mi Kee met his wife, when at a dinner, she sat beside him after he intruded on a marriage ceremony, thinking he could sit at an end table to pay for the seat and donate to the marriage and be left alone to think. His time to think was short as Maa Laal sat down and looked at her father who shook his head and pointed to a vacant seat, and Maa Laal shook her head and then argued and fought as female relatives gathered around her until the Priest stepped in and stopped them as it brought dishonour to the ceremony.

Finally Maa Laal gripped Mi Tee’s arm and forced him to walk to her father where both knelt and a knife was placed in her father’s hand and he place the knife across Mi Tee’s throat, pushing it in until blood ran.

Mi Kee looked at his possible father-in-law and took the knife from him, cutting himself from his chest to his abdomen, letting the blood run. Then he gave the knife to his potential father-in-law, who handed it to his wife.

She took the knife and sawed the stump of hair from her daughter.

Then she put the knife on the throat of her daughter and looked into her eyes.

You take this man, against all we believe in. Cut your throat after you cut his and you will live together in peace. You will never live in this family again.”

Maa Laal would never be called beautiful in a thousand years, but it would take a few more years for Mi Kee to earn his button and the button more than beauty mattered. Her mother had never found anyone for her and she knew her father had decided on Mi Kee but he was allowing her mother to try and destroy him – the blood still running down him and to then in an act of the worst spite at a marriage ceremony to bar from the family if he accepted Mi Kee … her father had encouraged his wife to attack her and now she would be outcast to a Class One Magistrate with nothing and no family; she stood upright, bowed to her mother and then to her father in a deliberate breaking of all bounds – taking Mi Kee’s hand she turned to him, “I don’t know what games are being played but I will lay with you!”

Let me speak to your father; I bowed before him; he must allow us to be together. He had the knife to stop everything?”

It is not the knife, but my mother. She hated that you gave my father the knife; she lost power as you gave him the power … she will never forgive that?”

It hadn’t easy facing her father, who was marrying his other daughter off, and facing his face that moved dramatically and often organically as he ate and looked at Mi Kee and at no point apart from spitted meat did he address Mi Kee.

Mi Kee was, as usual, late in leaving his office and headed as usual for his eating hole to find a wedding in full spat. The table in the centre was usually awash with food and gutters ran out from the table but they were cleaned and often.

The slang for the moot was the hubbub or Dwarf-up as they piled into each other. The Dwarfs, between attacks did also stop for meetings at times although usually to plan an attack on someone else.

Yes, you can draft the minutes; the problem was the seconds and having someone left at the end of the meeting.

another planet, often, you suppose, out of boredom and four Admirals stood up representing Political Groups but not for long as the blades went in.

The slaughter in Dwarvia’s Commune had so become bad, automatic washing was stopped for a moment in respect of yet another body, before they carried it out, as everyone breathed out – shame about the diets.

The roof of the circle; some times it showed ideas, other times it show stars – often Politicians who thought they were stars.

It would take to long to destroy the Venal Politicians

 

Chapter II – Arrival

Destraight – an excellent name for a planetary prison – an old unstable planet ideally suited for prisoners the Dwarven race had taken and was quietly movingon without the worry of them returning at some point so these specially selected prisoners would not be returning – they had become too much of a problem to hold in captivity.

During the years, three Dwarf Armada Class ships – Andromeda with Admiral James Droga; Surreptitious with Admiral Martan Matira, and the Ancient with Admiral David Jamesson – and yes, there was sufficient head clearance for non-Dwarven races – approached; and along with twenty thousand sleeping prisoners/politicians per ship there were Guards, Hounds and hunting Cats to control them and hunt those who tried to escape – no-one was going anywhere they were not instructed to go.

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#amwriting #wip A bit more

A bit more editing/writing and still working on it and ideas. Raw as Newgate’s Knocker

Dave

Chapter I – Dwarvia

The roof of the Dwarvian Political House pictured a lot of things – usually the latest conquests although they’re were more battles in the house than were ever fought outside but the Political parties fought so much for their conquests to be seen that Dwarvia seemed to be nothing more than a transit camp for a picture show across the roof with split-second updates and the commentators were now becoming more famous than the battles.

The Droga’s. Matira’s and Jamesson’s essentially ruled and all were blue eyed dwarfs grown to about 5 foot 4 – the maximum height for the Space Corp and they spent most of their lives staring at the ceiling and complaining when a conquest was missed.

The Political House, its ceiling, and the planet, to a degree, were governed by five Political Parties: Droga; Matira; Jamesson; De Bowed and Du Storme who hated each other but what was unusual was they worked together, until they realised they couldn’t trust anyone included themselves. It was a case of Dwarf eat Dwarf and they didn’t worry about whether there was any relish to go with the dwarf.

The De Bowed and Du Storme were junior in most quarters and treated as other Political Party’s were; although minor in the Dwarvian World they had taken prisoners and were talking about the two hundred thousand prisoners now scattered around Dwarvia and the ruling party’s were not having a ball as they rioted – primarily because smaller Dwarvian Politicial Groups did not have the dwarf-power to control them.

Blasting them, which was the standard Dwarvian way had now killed over four hundred thousand Dwarfs and levelled major areas of the cities, but now the Political Houses were demanding a solution with the War-loving Admirals leading it and everyone held the De Bowed and Du Storme’s to blame for the carnage!

Mi Kee met his wife, when at a dinner, she sat beside him after he intruded on a marriage ceremony, thinking he could sit at an end table to pay for the seat and donate to the marriage and be left alone to think. His time to think was short as Maa Laal sat down and looked at her father who shook his head and pointed to a vacant seat, and Maa Laal shook her head and then argued and fought as female relatives gathered around her until the Priest stepped in and stopped them as it brought dishonour to the ceremony.

Finally Maa Laal gripped Mi Tee’s arm and forced him to walk to her father where both knelt and a knife was placed in her father’s hand and he place the knife across Mi Tee’s throat, pushing it in until blood ran.

Mi Kee looked at his possible father-in-law and took the knife from him, cutting himself from his chest to his abdomen, letting the blood run. Then he gave the knife to his potential father-in-law, who handed it to his wife.

She took the knife and sawed the stump of hair from her daughter.

Then she put the knife on the throat of her daughter and looked into her eyes.

You take this man, against all we believe in. Cut your throat after you cut his and you will live together in peace. You will never live in this family again.”

Maa Laal would never be called beautiful in a thousand years, but it would take a few more years for Mi Kee to earn his button and the button more than beauty mattered. Her mother had never found anyone for her and she knew her father had decided on Mi Kee but he was allowing her mother to try and destroy him – the blood still running down him and to then in a act of the worst spite at a marriage ceremony to bar from the family if he accepted Mi Kee … her father had encouraged his wife to attack her and now she would be outcast to a Class One Magistrate with nothing and no family; she stood upright, bowed to her mother and then to her father in a deliberate breaking of all bounds – taking Mi Kee’s hand she turned to him, “I don’t know what games are being played but I will lay with you!”

Let me speak to your father; I bowed before him; he must allow us to be together. He had the knife to stop everything?”

It is not the knife, but my mother. She hated that you gave my father the knife; she lost power as you gave him the power … she will never forgive that?”

It hadn’t easy facing her father, who was marrying his other daughter off, and facing his face that moved dramatically and often organically as he ate and looked at Mi Kee and at no point apart from spitted meat did he address Mi Kee.

Mi Kee was, as usual, late in leaving his office and headed as usual for his eating hole to find a wedding in full spat. The table in the centre was usually awash with food and gutters ran out from the table but they were cleaned and often.

The slang for the moot was the hubbub or Dwarf-up as they piled into each other. The Dwarfs, between attacks did also stop for meetings at times although usually to plan an attack on someone else.

Yes, you can draft the minutes; the problem was the seconds and having someone left at the end of the meeting.

another planet, often, you suppose, out of boredom and four Admirals stood up representing Political Groups but not for long as the blades went in.

The slaughter in Dwarvia’s Commune had so become bad, automatic washing was stopped for a moment in respect of yet another body, before they carried it out, as everyone breathed out – shame about the diets.

The roof of the circle; some times it showed ideas, other times it show stars – often Politicians who thought they were stars.

It would take to long to destroy the Venal Politicians

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#amwriting #wip Thoughts

Some ideas on the start: Really just thoughts and as usual I haven’t finished more than the ideas.

Daved

 

Chapter I – Dwarvia

The roof of the Dwarvian Political House pictured a lot of things – usually the latest conquests although they’re were more battles in the house than were ever fought outside but the Political parties fought so much for their conquests to be seen that Dwarvia seemed to be nothing more than a transit camp for a picture show across the roof with split-second updates and the commentators were now becoming more famous than the battles.

The house, and the planet, do a degree was governed by five Political Parties: Droga; Matira; Jamesson; De Bowed and Du Storme. It was a case of Dwarf eat Dwarf and they didn’t worry about whether there was any relish. The De Bowed and Du Storme were junior in most quarters and treated as such. The Droga’s. Matira’s and Jamesson’s essentially ruled and all were blue eyed dwarfs grown to about 5 foot 4 – the maximum height for the Space Corp.

Mi Kee met his wife, when at a dinner, she sat beside him after he intruded on a marriage ceremony, thinking he could sit at an end table to pay for the seat and donate to the marriage and be left alone to think. His time to think was short as Maa Laal sat down and looked at her father who shook his head and pointed to a vacant seat, and Maa Laal shook her head and then argued and fought as female relatives gathered around her until the Priest stepped in and stopped them as it brought dishonour to the ceremony.

Finally Maa Laal gripped Mi Kee’s arm and forced him to walk to her father where both knelt and a knife was placed in her father’s hand and he place the knife across Mi Kee’s throat, pushing it in until blood ran.

Mi Kee looked at his possible father-in-law and took the knife from him, cutting himself from his chest to his abdomen, letting the blood run. Then he gave the knife to his potential father-in-law, who handed it to his wife.

She took the knife and sawed the stump of hair from her daughter.

Then she put the knife on the throat of her daughter and looked into her eyes.

You take this man, against all we believe in. Cut your throat after you cut his and you will live together in peace. You will never live in this family again.”

Maa Laal would never be called beautiful in a thousand years, but it would take a few more years for Mi Kee to earn his button and the button more than beauty mattered. Her mother had never found anyone for her and she knew her father had decided on Mi Kee but he was allowing her mother to try and destroy him – the blood still running down him and to then in a act of the worst spite at a marriage ceremony to bar from the family if he accepted Mi Kee … her father had encouraged his wife to attack her and now she would be outcast to a Class One Magistrate with nothing and no family; she stood upright, bowed to her mother and then to her father in a deliberate breaking of all bounds – taking Mi Kee’s hand she turned to him, “I don’t know what games are being played but I will lay with you!”

Let me speak to your father; I bowed before him; he must allow us to be together. He had the knife to stop everything?”

It is not the knife, but my mother. She hated that you gave my father the knife; she lost power as you gave him the power … she will never forgive that?”

It hadn’t easy facing her father, who was marrying his other daughter off, and facing his face that moved dramatically and often organically as he ate and looked at Mi Kee and at no point apart from spitted meat did he address Mi Kee.

Mi Kee was, as usual, late in leaving his office and headed as usual for his eating hole to find a wedding in full spat. The table in the centre was usually awash with food and gutters ran out from the table but they were cleaned and often.

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#amwriting #wip Thinking

One of the main issues was that I came up years ago with nothing more than a poem called Mioned. Whose eyes were covered at birth as she was effectively blinded and had two guards whose role was to make sure that if she died, it was by misfortune. The Guardians made sure she had plenty of opportunities to die as, if they killed her, they couldn’t inherit.

Mi Kee came into my thoughts as a Magistrate that allow rules to happen and just nodded them through as it was his job. As a Chinese magistrate he watched the killing of thousands because of the rules

Then he found a form of conscience as he watched two lovers about to be beheaded and realised what love was as he plunged into a pool.

Inter-spacial magic is not easy thing to understand: nor why; who; or what it feels you should understand or what you do understand.

It probably makes it up as it goes alone, like a Tory Politician on Brexit with a weak useless Prime Minister who as the Home Office Minister basically destroyed policing and the borders in this country.

Time and space like a Poltician’s goals are easy things to discuss, especially when you don’t know anything;  you then have a bunch of war loving dwarfs; planets that were minding their own business and a planet now bent into a life it never sought – austerity as a value.

I started with just ideas; I knew the ideas were growing and decided to let them; I thought I might have gotaway with a quick Mi Kee but now; Trons, Minuets, Old Folk, Wolfen; Killing Dwarfs; Killing Royalty; Planet keeps being blasted apart – and the killing is by the people/objects – not killing them.

Loosing the machine with my finding cuts here, old copies and forty pages of print of ideas/already written whilst I start to understand what I have started changed everything including building a machine that is well protected – Internet and Internal Security-wise.

Thanks to people who put up with my words and I do hope to make it worth your efforts.

I am now about to start a new start:

“The hubbub or Dwarfup stopped for a moment as everyone breathed out – shame about the diets.”

Regards

Dave

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#amwriting #wip Update

Without going on more about the system failing and taking out everything, the Beast is built and I have no excuses, anymore, for failing to write.

In fact, I have now edited the 165 pages to date.

The main problem was losing impetus and finding myself left with a plot hanging in suspension and having to face that I loved the way the plot was going but panic set in. I just switched off and the momentum is slow to come back.

I’ve built, and needed two hours of a specialist builder who whined all the time because he couldn’t understand the MSI Titanium board and finally it is working and on SSD for Drive C; Drive G is a dynamic Raid 1 Disk where my writing is spread across 2 mirrored disks with a USB Hard Disk for backups. The fans do adjust to the heat of the machine and the CPU Cooler is a Kraken which takes the heat to a radiator with a fan beneath it to blow it out of the top of the machine.

5 Fans to keep it cool with three more on the graphics board if it feels it is getting warm.

Why spend the money when this thing will probably outlive me, and every part retail so it can be replaced – I thought I knew, after 40 years IT and Systems what I doing – I didn’t appreciate Microsoft’s antics on systems and continuously upgrading to repair the faults from the last upgrade as they appear to check the software before they give to users to check!

No fancy Dell antics here, either.

The case is a Giant and already I cannot see the backup line from the writing as it saves that fast, and a full scan takes minutes not hours.

ATG is the Internet protection, plus Rapport and Microsoft and courtesy of history, the machines work through a Network Switch, to a router, to the Sky router. Wi-fi goes to a separate router, to the Sky router.

Writing – I should have written background but if you read Anne McCaffrey she came to the initial thoughts after several books. The beginning was written virtually after the end.

I thought I could get away with it, as did Star Wars.

I’m not on a level with these people. I’m still trying to find my own style after learning I can write – I often wonder what the hell is going on as I tried to write – I wrote Espionage and no-one wanted to know; futuristic and no-one wanted to know: Fantasy and there is interest in a space Dwarf killing country and the Political fights of killing Dwarfs and Peaceful Dwarfs.

For futuristic ideas on Electronic Wallpaper that talks to you – don’t tell the Tories; cars that clock in and arrange their servicing and restrict you so you become virtual slaves – you can tell the Tories … they invented it; and groups of people who feel they are a family in control of what becomes a Dictatorship – FYOG – Don’t Wait Up and FYOG – I May Be A Long Time – on Amazon – ebooks are dirt cheap but bare with the humour.

I’ve gone on too long anyway but the last weeks have meant building a structure; still not complete, to have an aggressive set of dwarfs deciding,that  apart from trying to kill each other and dominate, and destroy the people on  a planet a long distance away, means that means I must write virtually another book without having done anything beyond ideas/playing with the future results of their activities and writing what I felt was a book?

I am now sidetracked, probably on a sidetrack and left with the front half of a book on structure and the second half on a good story but I need to go back to Dwarvia.

Will I ever see my small planet with an ex-chinese Mandarin; a stroppy Parrot; a Saltie; a Vortex, the Cats and the Lady, again.

On writing, I need, having got the mechanism together to not lose words and to make those words good enough to not want to lose.

Thanks to you all for putting up with thoughts.

regards

Dave

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