Wade Garret's World

Two’s Company Joe Abercrombie Illustrated by Tommy Arnold Edited by Jonathan Strahan Tue Jan 12, 2016 9:00am 5 comments 4 Favorites [+] Lost in the wide and barren North, Javre, Lioness of Hoskopp, runs into Cracknut Whirrun on a bridge far too narrow for the expansive egos of either.  With the King of the Northmen and the High Priestess of Thond in pursuit, can Shevedieh, the greatest thief in Styria, persuade either one of these proud heroes to step aside? Somewhere in the North, Summer 576 “This is hell,” muttered Shev, peering over the brink of the canyon. “Hell.” Rock shiny-dark with wet disappeared into the mist below, water rushing somewhere, a long way down. “God, I hate the North.” “Somehow,” answered Javre, pushing back hair turned lank brown by the eternal damp, “I do not think God is listening.” “Oh, I’m abundantly aware of that. No one’s bloody listening.” ...

The Return of the Thin White Duke I never met David Bowie. After a while it almost became a game: I only had one hero left, and it was him. The nearest I came to it was meaning to send him a copy of Trigger Warning, with this story in it, and an apologetic note. It's unabashedly fan fiction. You can find the story of its origin in Trigger Warning. He was the monarch of all he surveyed, even when he stood out on the palace balcony at night listening to reports and he glanced up into the sky at the bitter twinkling clusters and whorls of stars. He ruled the worlds. He had tried for so long to rule wisely, and well, and to be a good monarch, but it is hard to rule, and wisdom can be painful. And it is impossible, he had found, if you rule, to do only good, for you cannot build anything without tearing something down, and even he could not care about every life, every dream, every population of every world. Bit by bit, moment by moment, death by little death,...

Last Year (Winds of Winter) Jan. 2nd, 2016 at 12:24 AM The last post from the Lost Post, and the one you've all been waiting for. Back when this was one long long long post, before Live Journal sent it to the cornfield, I mentioned opening with Dickens' line, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." So it was for me in 2015. I've spent much of the day recreating (in Cliff's Note summaries) my own personal "best of times" from the previous year, all the wonderful things that went down for me in 2015, the awards and the publications and the bestseller lists, the cons and the parties, the travel, all the exciting new projects underway at HBO and right here down the street in Santa Fe. But inevitably that brings me to my own personal "worst of times," and that is considerably less fun to blog about, so do forgive my reluctance to do so. Yo...