THERE ARE SOME RECIPES A cook was not meant to know. It had begun innocently enough, in epicurean Pormaris’ enormous Archive of Gastronomic Artifice. This beloved institution was holy to two of the six-hundred-thirteen Flickering Gods: Toth-Ar the Divine Scribe…
Category: Writing
My own serious stuff; the craft itself; those who inspire me in it; the art of reading.
My reason for writing stories is to give myself the satisfaction of visualising more clearly and detailedly and stably the vague, elusive, fragmentary impressions of wonder, beauty, and adventurous expectancy which are conveyed to me by certain sights (scenic, architectural, atmospheric, etc.), ideas, occurrences, and images encountered in art and literature.
— H.P. Lovecraft, “Notes on Writing Weird Fiction”
Prosatio Silban and the Holy Terror
An homage to the Cook For Any Price’s D&D roots. Enjoy. THE FIRST THING TO KNOW about getting along in basalt-wrought Zug Ululat is that you must never, under any circumstances, mention the howling. Prosatio Silban knew this. And yet,…
What Dreams (A Prosatio Silban Tale)
COOKING IS MORE THAN SIMPLY preparation: it is also a celebration of source, and hence a manifestation of living history. “Where did you find this recipe?” m’Lady Phytan Gorrista asked between well-laden forkfuls. “I have never tasted its like.” Prosatio…
Words to Bring Back: “Drub”
– Definition: v. 1. hit or beat (someone) repeatedly 2. defeat thoroughly in a match or contest – Used in a sentence: Isn’t it nice when the Bad Guys finally get a well-deserved drubbing? – Why: Because “B.T.S.O.O. him” is…
Ancient History (A Prosatio Silban Tale)
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER CAN SOMETIMES be profitable – but the profit, though rich, needn’t necessarily be monetary. The sun was just kissing the golden-hilled western horizon when Prosatio Silban pulled up on the plaited yak-hair reins, signaling his dray-beast to…
Humoronomics (Pithyism #3=1)
A JOKE, ANECDOTE, OR SHAGGY-DOG story should be no longer than necessitated by the redemptive power of its punch line.
Prosatio Silban and the Pernicious Wishes
PROSATIO SILBAN STOOD UP, WIPED his hands on his kneebreeches and cursed mildly in the name of a minor god. If only this wheel hadn’t broken, he thought, I’d now be in many-harbored Soharis cooking fresh-caught fish for wealthy or…
Prosatio Silban and the Keeper of Memories
“I AM THE KEEPER OF Memories,” said the man in the natty blue silk robe. “What do you offer?” “For your custom, or your breakfast?” replied Prosatio Silban. “Breakfast first!” cried the Keeper of Memories, and chuckled. “Always. Food before…
Prosatio Silban and the Disconsolate Wineherd
EVEN OVER THE CLANK OF his galleywagon, Prosatio Silban could hear the sobs. The weeper, a well-to-do farmer by his dress, was standing beside a smartly-appointed and -laden oxcart at the crossroads near Vineol, a town renowned throughout the Uulian…
Prosatio Silban and the Haunted Oyster
OF ALL THE THINGS THAT make the Three Cities and Thousand Villages of the Uulian Commonwell unique, perhaps none so typify that uniqueness as their calendar. Where other peoples marked time in a strictly numeric fashion, the Uulians used a…
Metaphoraging Roundup 2020
AS THE EARTH RETURNS IN its orbit to where it was last year, here is a look at the top ten posts The Metaphorager’s readers enjoyed (I hope) during the past twelve months: My Favorite Jewish Joke – 80 Views…