Jeff Chappell

Once upon a time I was a reporter and journalist. Then I taught English for awhile to folks who weren't native English speakers. Now I just write on Wandering whilst Wondering.

Sometimes Love Doesn’t Conquer All

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… She read the inscription and laughed. “Contrary to legend, Robert, I don’t need invitations to go where I wish. But thank you just the same. I’m flattered.” And then she smiled that bewitching smile. …

A Boy Finds His Muse

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… I looked up and there she was, perched above the glass bottles of expensive imported liquor behind the bar. The dim accent lights of the bar gave her feathers a glossy look, alternately changing from tawny to midnight blue in hue as she moved. She spread her wings and preened; she knew the lighting flattered her graceful lines. …

George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire: the Good, the Bad, the Debauchery

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Let it suffice to say that perhaps Martin doesn’t always do gritty realism as well as it could be done (yet at times he does indeed), but it is a cut – a detailed, bloody one from groin to collarbone that causes bowels and other assorted entrails to fall out – above the standard bookshelf fare when it comes to quote-unquote realistic fantasy.

Roamin’ in the Gloamin

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… the woman wasn’t listening. She was changing. Veretissa’s flesh crawled, rippled and ripped, flowing over her like molten lava. Her clothing fell to the ground. And then standing in front of Dervhla on hind legs was a somewhat larger version of the wolf she had battled the night before. … “This is indeed deviltry,” she murmured. “Lycanthropy. Who is the witch now?” …

Earth’s Hope

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… “You’d think with a computer of Hal’s magnitude, with the sum of all human knowledge at my fingertips available through him, hundreds of thousands of terabytes of virtual reality simulations to amuse me, and traveling farther in space than any resident of Earth has ever done, I wouldn’t get bored, but sometimes I still do. And I’m starting to get sick of synthesized food.” …

An Irish Vampire in Belfast

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… His face didn’t look that old, what little of it she could see that wasn’t covered by hair or whiskers. But his hands were lined and calloused as if they belonged to an old and weary farmer, an ancient man of the earth. He didn’t reply for a moment or two. And then, in a not-quite Gaelic accent: “So, that devil Patrick has his own day of honor, now does he?” …

Every End Spawns a Beginning

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… This time his consciousness clicked on like a light; as it always did when the sun went down. He opened his eyes with a start to subdued lighting. He smelled blood … the dark maroon fluid that was dripping into his right arm from some type of IV pole standing next to him that took the edge off his thirst. …

Jessica’s True Nature

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… And before Jess even realized it, she was flying through her second story window and down the street, landing softly next to the startled dog walker. Behind her, she could hear the tinkling of glass. “Holy fucking shit!” she gasped. She was perhaps even more astonished than the young man and his dog put together. …

Puking and Panic

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… I felt like the narrator at the end of Poe’s The Telltale Heart: “Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here, it is the beating of my hideous virginity!” The jig was up. …

A Word About WordPress

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But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted something a little more than static HTML and PHP — as in a database (nerd is as nerd does) — which was a little beyond what I was prepared for.

Just an Update: Pandemic Blues

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So after looking at things like Pico CMS and whatnot — no databases (hell yes!) for example, which was closer — but not quite — to what I had in mind, it dawned on me that I was reinventing the wheel.