jj76: Blog

I would like to than everyone who sent me comments on Wilhan. They helped the story and helped me as a writer. I want to apologize to B4Lurker for the piece of crap I sent him for the first proofread. Bacgen and Carla59 kindly offered to looked over the rewrites.

The next ring-sword story is the prequel, and I'm deep into rewrites trying to get it ready. The good news is that the rewrites are making it longer and better; the bad news is that it might be a couple of months before you see it. It's my first attempt at writing about magic use, which is not my favorite subject, but magic blows shit up and is used to make cool swords, so it is worth writing about.

Here are my multi personality disorderly thoughts on the ending of Wilhan Dragonslayer.


I liked the story except for the fact that you ended the hero's life with an act of genocide.

--Yes, I did have our good guy try to kill off an entire tribe. Like it or not, it was in his nature, but it was business, not pleasure. This was a story of the times, not a good vs. evil story. I did leave out the human and animal sacrifices that probably took place at Wilhan's funeral. I don't set out when writing a story to entertain others, just myself, and sometimes I entertain myself by writing something that I know will be unpopular. This story was about pseudo realism, but even I couldn't be too realistic. There were some tribes that did not practice blood sacrifice, so I didn't have to put in the scene where the slave girl gets ritually gang raped by Dragon Eaters and then killed by the Angel of Death priestess, to then lie beside Wilhan's body in the funerary ship. There would probably be male slaves and horses killed and put in the boat too. Henna, Marin, and especially Freyna, would have insisted on all of that bloodshed so that Wilhan could be just as powerful in the next life as he was in this one, but hopefully nobody wanted our favorite three cum sluts to be like that if they didn't have to be.


Why did you bury Oakheart?

1) So an archeologist could dig it up and put it in a museum so that some guy could see a picture of it a thousand years later and be inspired to write a story. -- No, really that was my main reason. In my mind this was a possible true-ish story about a rusty sword dug up out of a buried funerary ship.

2) There are other ring-swords and other stories out there. Oakheart did its part and had its story. But I didn't bend Oakheart to kill it, as happened in real life to prevent the dead from using such a sword against the living. That leaves open the possibility that the swords can be resurected.

3) Aron priestess could switch swords before the burial.

4) Someone from Mazara's family could sneak back and dig it up.

5) Grave robbers can come back hundreds of years later and dug it up to start another story.


--I have no plans for writing more about Wilhan or Oakheart because my interest in the ring sword world lies elsewhere. It's a world for me to explore other cultures. So if someone wants to fiddle with writing more about Oakheart, the Nwevic wars, Mazara, etc. go for it with my blessing, just keep the fireballs to a minimum. In Wilhan's time and place powerful magic is lost/hidden to all but Mazara's family.


Why didn't Mazara follow Wilhan back and become a fourth wife?

--Because it wasn't realistic considering the three wives he already had (Oh Wil, she's so pretty, and younger than us. She has Elizabeth Taylor's eye color and eyelash mutation. Surely you will love her more than us, can we keep her?), and the politics of the Aron situation (my family and people will shun me, Wil, but I can't live without your cock. btw, sorry I was about to turn you into a crispy critter when you killed Eadul). I thought about putting Wilhan between her legs because I'm an SOL author, but I'm trying to cut back on crap writing like that (i.e. author's frivolous fantasy character writing). I have a parody prehistoric time travel harem story in the works where whenever I want to write something unbelievable and stupid I plug it into that story. That guy shits gold, has a huge dick, and marries mother-daughter pairs at their request minutes after having anal sex with them. And yes, they all have red hair, as all fuck sluts in erotic stories must.


How did Oakheart get stuck in the tree?

--I invite someone to write that short little vignette after the close of the next story. I do know the time frame when the sword got stuck in the tree, but all I could work up the energy for was that some knight stuck it into the tree just before he died, so obviously I'm not the person to write that story.


What happened to poor forgotten Ranis?

--He's rich from all the land his brothers have given him, and he doesn't have the shitty responsibility of being a marklord, baron, etc. I was going to give him a castle and have him protect the Cazadren River against Nwevii, but he would have been old by then and would have told Wilhan to fuck off. Making him a marklord next to Tarmiz on the Helvezii riverfront didn't seem realistic. IMO elevating Tarmiz was pushing it from Arnek's perspective. Wilhan was the only one of the brothers who wanted the responsibility anyway. His motivation is debatable -- possibly he has a need to prove himself to his brothers, or maybe he is just one of those types that have to keep building and reaching for more.


What happened to Ethanda?

--Who cares? She's a girl. This story was about big hairy smelly men with spears and swords.*


Did Wilhanina grow up to be a great shield maiden?

--Who cares? She's a girl. I don't want to write a follow up story about a big hairy smelly butch lesbian with a shield.**


What's with the crappy map?

--To help with locations and travel time in my stories I make a map of colored squares in the same Excel spreadsheet file where I keep all of the character and place names. I made it, so you got it.


*Most of my story backlog is full of strong female characters, some are the lead character. The next ring sword story, the prequel, focuses on women with power. They are petite, free of facial hair, and smell nice, even the evil ones. Sadly, there is only one good sex scene. That story will be posted next but since you all liked the Sarvalk War chapter of Wilhan I have to go back and fill out the war and battle sections in this next story. They get as boring and hard to write as sex scenes. Thrust, thrust, maneuver, thrust, thrust, maneuver, thrust, climax. Blood spurts instead of jizz. Good guy wins, bad guy loses.

** I have a story set in ancient Greece that is all about Amazon hoplite armies. Most of them are black chicks -- sorry, that isn't PC, they are African-Greek women. There are also Viking Amazons in the story but they the lowest social class. It's a twisted social statement.


Dear JJ76, I like Death Bringer much better than the stories you actually work hard on. Do we get an episode in this blog entry? -- No, Fuck You.

The next installment of Wilhan Dragonslayer is posted. It is the next to the last chapter, so next week will be the end. I am working hard on the rewrites to the prequel -- The Ring Swords: Black Barons, or Demon Wars, or Chicks with Magic Sticks. I don't know if it will be ready to post in two weeks but the longer I work on it the less it will suck.


Wilhan just hit number five for weekly downloads but it's a hollow victory because I have two chapters posted less than a week apart. So do the top stories, but Wilhan was almost top ten with just one chapter up, which is pretty cool. If I were a dick I would chop the final chapter into four parts and post them a day or two apart starting early next week.



Here is the next adventure of Death Bringer.


I am Death Bringer, slave and plaything of the three gods. Tonight I take my revenge on my masters, for tomorrow I am to be sacrificed to the slavering beast of the five hells, and I am powerless to stop it.

My nightmare began today as the sun was falling. I was stalking flutterfolk along the edge of the colorful sunface thicket when the godling came and snatched me away from my hunt. I was held in its firm grasp and carried over to the lair of the hill demons. There the smallest and most dangerous of the hill demons, a spindly, speckled-faced thing with flames for hair and feet the color of grapes, came to inspect me. I was given over to the foul creature to be examined and fondled. The two spoke, obviously bartering for my life. I knew not the reason until the demonling passed me back and began bellowing. Almost immediately the slavering beast appeared, its voice baying like the sound of the horns of hell themselves.

The dreaded brown, black, and white creature was ungainly in its gullumping run, with its long ears flopping and its white tipped tail held up like a waggling saber. The demonling held the beast up and suddenly I knew for certain the reason I was there.

I was to be given over to feed the beast's lust for blood. Closer and closer my godling moved me, and closer and closer the demonling brought the beast until I was in range of its foul jaws. Then the instant of my impending death came and a tongue too large for any mortal being shot out of the beast's mouth and coved my face with rank, stinking venomous slime. Again and again it happened. Surely this was to weaken me before it sank its teeth into my face. I could stand no more, for I am Death Bringer, not some lamb for slaughter. I sank my claws into the flesh of my godling and made my escape.

Up, up, I climbed into the branches of the nearest barkwood tree. From my perch I could see the chaos that I had caused by rebelling against the will of the gods. The beast was taken into the dwelling of the demons and my godling ran back to its abode with red face and watering eyes, wailing for vengeance against me. Shortly after that the gods and demons met below me. The demons outnumbered the gods four to three but I still hoped that the final battle of the apocalypse would take place to bring about the demise of their kind, but instead I watched as they negotiated for peace … and for my life and my corpse.

The gods were cowed, and the largest of the demons brought a climbing device from its lair. My large god climbed up and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck. I was paralyzed as he handed me not to the hill demons but to his mate, who carried me back to my prison. This god tried to sooth me into submission with gentle sounds and a saucer of alabaster nectar.

I have surmised from the soothing songs and heavenly liquid that the godling had made a mistake by offering one such as me to the beast without the proper level of respect and ceremony. Certainly tomorrow will see a ceremony fitting for my sacrifice. I will meet my death because my masters are cowards who are afraid to battle the hill demons and their hell beast.

They will know of my disdain for them, and on the morrow I will be vigilant and try to make my escape, but for now the saucer of nectar has made me sleepy…

"Mommy, Fluffers pooped in my shoe!"

The next chapter of Wilhan will be up tomorrow barring any problems. I'm sorry that I missed last week. I tried to rob a liqour store with a feral water buffalo and I spent the last week or so in the local small town big house trying to convince the court appointed head shrinker why a feral water buffalo was a much better weapon than a gun, knife, or semisharp stick. And while that was going on the secret government machine that controls my thoughts had modem trouble. The secret government Techdude that controls the nation's supply of modems refused to call me back due to a fear of asiatic bovines capable of producing mozzarella cheese.


Here is another cautionary tale about Satan's favorite minion, Death Bringer.


I am Death Bringer, lord of the aeries and of the seven caverns, slave of the three gods, silent creature of the dark night. This night I hunt the dwelling of the gods as they sleep. My fangs and claws are sharp and I hunger for the warm blood of mortal beings.

I watch from the aerie as the last fire goes out in the land of the hill demons. Now I can hunt the caverns. I set off. The airs is still and the ground under my feet is soft. My passage is as silent as a tomb. I make my way, watching and listening, until I come to the cavern of the two gods. It is closed to me so I move on, listening in the dark for the rustle of life. There is nothing. I move to the cavern of the Charybdis, but its swirling waters are still. Further on, past the two great halls, I find the way to the deep cavern blocked so I squeeze through the small opening that takes me to the cavern of the chariots. It was here that I battled a long-tailed squeak beast not two days before. It escaped and left me the fool, so this night I seek my revenge.

My senses are on alert as I check every detail of this cavern, but the squeak beast is nowhere to be found.

Returning to the two great halls I sense prey in a fertile hunting area that has so far eluded me. It cannot hide from my keen sense of smell; I can tell that it sits high above, in fear of me, for I am Death Bringer. My muscles bunch and I leap. The plateau it calls home has been out of my reach until now, but I am stronger than before and this night I achieve my goal.

My prey is so terrified of me that it does not run. I slowly approach and sniff at it. My mouth waters at the scent and I take several licks. Yes, this is the prey that I smelled from below. I want the thrill of the chase and the ecstasy of the kill more than I want to feed right now so to motivate this thing whose life is moments away from ending I place my hand on it.

The beast still does not move, instead it covers my hand in its foul secretions. Perhaps it is dead already. Disgusted, I move off, but the secretions prevent purchase on the smooth surface of the plateau so after three steps I am forced to lick my hand clean. At least the taste is not bad.

This night's hunt has been exhausting and fruitless. It is time to sleep. The cavern of the godling is open to me so I enter and leap up onto its sleeping platform. I walk across the body of the smallest of my masters. It is warm. I shall remember that for when the time of ice comes to the land, but tonight my slumber awaits on the soft cushion in front of the godling's face. My claws prepare my bed and I settle down to sleep.

It is light when I am awakened by the distant bellowing of one of the gods.

"Bob, you left the cover off the butter dish last night!"

I have worked on chapter six of Wilma's Dragging Slipper so that most of my former narration is now dialog. Please let me know if it makes for a better read than the earlier chapters. If so I will try to do more of that with the remaining 2-3 chapters.

Here is a doodle.

Presenting: Death Bringer

I am Death Bringer, lord of the tall grass plains and the border forests, slave of the three gods, silent creature of the dark night. This day I hunt in the light. My fangs and claws are sharp and I hunger for the warm blood of mortal beings. I make my way through the border forest, hunting, ever hunting. In the distance I hear the unmistakable sounds of the unholy beast of the five hells, slavering pet of the hill demons. It is a creature so fierce that even I dare not face it. The beast is moving closer, close enough to sense me if I make a mistake, so I freeze, wait, and listen. There, it has found other quarry. It moves away quickly, baying after some unlucky being.

The forest is still this day so I move out into the tall grass. I do not have far to go before I sense movement ahead. It is one of the long-legged fairy folk whose large unblinking eyes see the slightest movement. It waits and watches in the grass ahead. I must be careful -- my stalk must be slow and cautious. Closer, closer. I shiver in anticipation. Slowly, one step at a time. Step, freeze. Step, freeze. I draw within striking distance.

Finally I am close enough. My muscles tense. I leap. My prey sees my movement and leaps as well. Its wings begin to take it to safety, but it has reacted too slowly by an instant. My outstretched talons find it and pull it from the air. I pin the hapless creature to the earth and gloat. My mouth waters, but I want to have some fun first so I let it go. The fairy leaps away again but the tall grass gets in the way of its wings and I bring it down again. Twice more I let it try to escape. After that it gives up, knowing its fate -- for all know that I am Death Bringer.

The crunch of its body between my teeth is ecstasy. The gods will be proud of me this day. I feel them watching from beyond the grassy plain.

Mommy, Daddy, come see! The kitten is in the backyard catching grasshoppers.


This literary masterpiece was inspired by Frank Frazetta's Death Dealer paintings and the picture of the lime head cat.

If anyone out there understands Microsoft Word 2003, what key combination am I accidentally hitting that makes it go into overtype-insert mode while I type? During edits and rewrites I sometimes have to stop and hit the insert key to get things back to working normally. The only weird keys near my fingers when it changes modes are alt and the windows key, and I don't think I'm hitting them with my clumsy sausage fingers.

Author's note: If I ever get hauled into court and what I write is brought out for character reference I want it stated for the record that what I write is an attempt to entertain. I don't talk this way in real life, just like a porn actress won't really have sex with the pizza boy in real life, because that would be degrading.

A couple of readers have commented that my blog entries were just as entertaining as my stories. I'm hoping they weren't the guys giving me fours and fives on my stories because that would mean my blogs suck, which they probably should because they are little throw away mental doodles while my stories are long, heavily researched and copiously if not studiously edited … mental doodles.

One faithful reader pointed out that the blogs don't count for the download number on the regular membership, which is a good point but I don't see how anyone can read sixteen stories in one day. Before I became one of the internet's top authors and was given a premier membership by the Pulitzer committee I use to (there's an odd word combination 'use' 'to') download entire stories from my work computer at the convent daycare center and take them back to read at the halfway house at night, and it was difficult to get through sixteen stories in one day -- mostly because I'm a slow reader and can only jerk off so much before my arm goes numb. But I see what you, my faithful readers, are saying, and since I don't have to worry about technical merit, plot, or spelling, I'm not averse to writing more in the blog. So here goes … this week's blog (which I wrote two weeks ago as a doodle but was chicken to post until I took out the phrases like 'butt fucked' and 'nailed her good.')

I feel that I need to warn you so that you can schedule an extra session with your shrinks to deal with your disappointment… With a heavy heart and after much gnashing of teeth I decided NOT to enter the Halloween writing contest. There were two overriding reasons. Number one was because the rules said that there couldn't be any spelling errers, so there was a 90% chance that whatever I wrote would get kicked back anyway. Number two was because I wasn't inspired. I've never had interesting sex on Halloween, unless you count a sixty-nine on an uncomfortable futon, so I have no point of reference (that was redundant; all futons are uncomfortable torture devises.)

I did dress up like Wednesday Adams for a group costume contest one year and enjoyed staring into the bountiful cleavage of my makeup artist for a good twenty minutes. She had nice eyes too. I'm a gentleman and notice those things. I had on tighty whities under the dress so I was able to nonchalantly wedge the head of my stiffy under the waist band so that my dress didn't tent up while she worked. She had really sexy eyes.

We won the contest (they said my moustache and hairy legs helped clinch it), but I didn't get laid. I've cross-dressed a couple of times. The second time I recycled the dayglo pink bra from Wednesday Adams and used it to con a drunk girl with great big hooters into taking her shirt off in public. I think my line was, "I bet my bra is prettier than yours."

I did get laid later that night, but by a different woman. She was married, but not to me; and anal sex was involved, but not TO me. I didn't even know it was happening until it we switched positions and she said, "I can't believe I'm sucking your dick after it was in my ass." I guess I should have been paying more attention to where she put my schlong after it slipped out the second or fifth time but back then I didn't know you could do such perverted things in the missionary position, and I didn't know that there were woman on the planet who actually wanted guys to poke their back door. Plus, the bed was spinning, and I was trying to think about baseball.


Now that I think about it, a good lawyer might be able to get her convicted of rape since the anal sex was without my consent, at least the first time that night. I could sue for pain and suffering. If she's rich now I'm sure that I have religious convictions against such an act.

Now that I seriously think about it I can't go to heaven. I'm a sodomite! Sometimes I'm even a silly sod.

She was a very helpful lover because when she sensed that I was thinking about baseball she slowed things down by screaming the name 'Dino'. It wasn't my name or her husband's first name, but I figured that it must have been her husband's middle name, Saul Dino Greenberg sounded good to me at the time.

(I apologize, that's a lie, I just used a technique called 'artistic license' to try to be funny, the truth is that she moaned something about my dick being big and I started laughing, but if I put that in the story it would be embarrassing so I decided to portray some poor jewish guy whose mane I made up as a cuckold and some Italian guy as an indiscriminant cockhound who have no regard for the sanctity of marriage. It was insensitive of me to do that just so I wouldn't risk the world finding out that I have a dick the size of a small cocktail weenie.)

Eventually she made orgasmic noises, so I switched from thoughts of baseball to thoughts of a hot girl at the party who I wished I was having sex with. I came, she left. She was a designated driver and her friends were waiting for her in my living room, or maybe it was the kitchen -- I didn't go out to look. I took two aspirins, drank as much water as I could without puking, and went to sleep glad that there were women in the world who understood that they could take advantage of me when I had been drinking.

I had sex with her again a few days later when we met to discuss my being was uncomfortable with the fact that she was married. That time was in the backseat of her car. She had to park on the street a couple of blocks away and I was gentleman enough to walk her to where she parked. It was probably a bad idea that we had gone to a bar to discuss infidelity. For some reason I wasn't as opposed to nailing her when we got to her car, so I let her take advantage of me again. The compact car was almost as uncomfortable as a futon, and we kept having to stop when people walked by.

That all happened around a Mardi Gras party, so it doesn't do shit to inspire me for a Halloween story. I did get inspired the other day to think about maybe writing a series called 'Chicks I Fucked,' because all three of them were pretty funny events -- so remembering that episode just now gives me a story for that project. I promise to use real names so you guys can figure out if I did your mom or not. All of the interesting things that happened to me were twenty years ago, give or take five years, so I'm guessing the timing would be about right for a lot of readers. And for you older guys; if it was your wife that did freaky things to me back then, you deserve to know about it. You can't have a solid happy marriage without honesty. Tell her that you read all about her on a porn story site that you stumbled upon and accidentally signed up for.

A reader said that he thought I put a lot of thought into my blog posts. Not really. This shit just pours out like some sort of metaphor I can't think of right now.

Anyway, so far I've written a whole page trying to get to the point that I did come up with some ideas for Halloween stories. And because of that, for a few seconds I regretted not entering the SOL contest because I think some of these ideas are winners.


Story idea one:
Little Johnny comes home from trick-or-treating and sees his mother stretched out on the kitchen table with the family cocker spaniel between her legs licking her pussy … and she's dead.


Story idea two:
Little Johnny and little Suzy are brother and sister who love each other very much -- I'd say that they were eighteen for the contest but you can download the story and do a search and replace to put in any age you want. They dress up as a little angel and a little devil and go trick-or-treating around their nice gated suburban neighborhood. After they get to the last house they decide to cut through the woods. It's just a wooded stream between the back yards, but it's dark and spooky. Little Suzy is cold and scared until they get across the little bridge that leads to their back yard. They can see the back porch light on at their house from there, and Suzy relaxes.

"Johnny, have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Eww. Yuck. No. Why?"

"I get all itchy in my kitty, and I want you to kiss me there … to see what it feels like."

"OK, when we get inside and see what candy we have. Mom and Dad won't be home for an hour. I'll do whatever you want."

Just then there is a rustle in the bushes and the sound of pounding foot steps on the wooden bridge. Both kids are startled and take off running as fast as they can, but little Suzy trips. Johnny is too scared to stop and he leaves her behind.

It is just the family cocker spaniel, Thor. He licks little Suzy's face and she giggles, "Oh, you silly dog."

They get in the house and dump out their candy and go thought it all until they get to the bottom of the pile. And there, from the last house -- Judge (or Bishop) Flannigan's house -- they each find … a jizz filled condom with a human eyeball in it.


Story idea three:
An elementary school teacher named Bambi O'Shaunessy-Popodopolous is new in town and fresh out of college, with a shiny new teaching degree and a shiny new job to go with it. She is concerned because in the week before Halloween little Johnny started crying in class for no reason. She decides that something must be going on at little Johnny's home so while the kids are out trick-or-treating she dresses up in her sexy cat costume and drives over to little Johnny's house.

She rings the doorbell and hears a little yappy dog start barking. "That sounds like a cocker spaniel." she says to herself. Then the door opens and standing before her is a large man dressed as a butcher…

Here's a free-form Halloween thought to end things. I watched A Fish Called Wanda the other night and was reminded how hot Jamie Lee Curtis was -- still is for that matter but a different kind of GILF hot. Anyway, I think that she is in one of the Halloween movies with that guy from Austin Powers, Mike Meyers; and you can rent Trading Places if you want to see her glorious breastesses, or if you want to see Dan Akroyd when he was just starting to get pasty and fat. If you're a freak and want to see Akroyd's tits you'll have to rent White Coats, which is a Grey's Anatomy type romantic comedy with jizz jokes, garter belts, pole dancing, and a 'food fight' using human organs. But that's more of a Christmas flick.