Not Even Everything


The novel is coming along. Slowly, as it seems, but I’m having fun. I can’t just finish the chapter; I like the molding, the clay, making it right. I write scenes, and wait, and rewrite them, and repeat it, until it vaguely resembles something I’m looking for. Then I rewrite it and rewrite it again. I don’t know when I’ll be done, but I think I’ll like the book when I am.


Actually, I printed out the novel. Watched as the laserjet cursed and screamed; as a novel was born into the world. A vast white cliff of story. A year of my life and mind, made whole.


French Toast is picking up steam. Epic (our first and¬†extremely¬†terrific game) is about to hit it’s next development cycle. More art, more cards, more mechanics, more thinking, and photoshopping, and redoing.

This next cycle is going to have a drastic effect on the game though. It’s so important that I haven’t even played a round of cards since I thought of it…it wouldn’t be right. The game feels unfinished now.


French Toast’s next game is a hound at the door, howling, and begging to come in.

…to eat up all my time and maul me.


Todd Rogers