NO ONE HAS YET DEVISED a satisfactory agency for long-distance intimacy – but in every world, there’s at least one that tries. With a protracted high-pitched scream, an enormous emerald-hued bird circled Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon in descending spirals as the…
Author: Neal Ross Attinson
Neal Ross Attinson is one of those text-compulsives who feels naked without a keyboard, or at least a a pad and pen. He is unafraid of adverbs, loves astronomy and gastronomy with equally unabashed passion, and lives with/in an eclectic library in Sonoma, California.
Prosatio Silban and the Sleepless Heat
“WHO IS WISE?” ASKS THE old sage-monk – and answers: “One who learns from everyone.” Prosatio Silban squirmed in his damp sleeping-berth for the hundredth time, then finally rolled himself out of it and onto his feet. ENOUGH, he thought,…
Prosatio Silban and the Hushed Revelation
SOME KNOWN THINGS SHOULDN’T BE. Prosatio Silban glanced up at epicurean Pormaris’ massive dockside clock-tower, an accurate timekeeper and source of immense civic pride. A quarter-hour past fourteen, he thought. My customer should be arriving soon – and aha! here…
Calling (A Prosatio Silban Amuse-Bouche)
“WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO open and operate such a renowned dining-palace?” Prosatio Silban asked Hesto Panym, owner of many-harbored Soharis’ excellent and elegant Gull’s Wing. “Honestly? I don’t quite recall,” the restaurateur replied with an emphatic shrug. “But if…
The Writer’s Vital Question:
“WHAT’S THE MOST ENTERTAINING THING I can do for the reader next?“
Prosatio Silban and the Universal Chorus
WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE TO enter into your world’s oldest and otherwise silent conversation? The book was slim and hand-sized, pairing quaint movable-typeset Ancient Uulian with peculiar woodcuts, and its novelty was irresistible to Prosatio Silban after a long hour…
Prosatio Silban and the Slipped Tongue
WHERE AND WHEN PEOPLE GATHER, so do their secrets. Prosatio Silban slapped hot water on his back with a wet towel and let out a satisfied sigh. Nothing like a good steam to wash away the accumulated grime and cooking-grease,…
Prosatio Silban and the Tavern Tale
THE BEST TOOLS COME WITH stories, and Prosatio Silban’s were no exception. True, most of them – i.e., the overhead-dangling tangle of pots, pans, and cooking implements, along with a cork-sectioned drawer full of specialized knives – were acquired over…
Prosatio Silban and the Changed Life
THERE IS A RELAXED SENSUOSITY in winding down from a busy day, and Prosatio Silban always looked forward to it; in his case, the high point meant removing his artificial eyebrows. AHHH! he sighed to himself, and rubbed his now-naked…
Prosatio Silban and the Public Subterfuge
ANOTHER YEAR TRAVELED, PROSATIO SILBAN thought. And what has it gotten me except older? and perhaps, may it please the All-Mother, wiser? The cook-errant consulted the small mirror hanging outside his galleywagon’s black-curtained sleeping berth. One artificial eyebrow was neatly…
Exercise (A Prosatio Silban Amuse-Bouche)
“CONVINCE ME,” SAID THE outlander, “why I or anyone should believe in the Flickering Gods.” “That is something I cannot do,” Prosatio Silban said, setting before her a bowl of rich vegetable soup. “I myself do not believe in them,…
Prosatio Silban and the Tourist Attraction
IT WAS A DAY LIKE many another at Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon, now parked in South Market’s Itinerants’ Quarter: hectic, rushed, and profitable. The beefy cook was scurrying up and down the portable kitchen/domicile’s three wooden steps – up to prepare…