I woke up this morning with 6 different story ideas in my head. Knowing I'd never remember them all, I put down the broad strokes of the ideas as quickly as I could, and then went back and started back-filling what details I could remember. I got only as far as this idea, and have done ZERO research on the names or editing my use of archaic speech. This is what it is - hopefully, I will be able to remember the rest enough to come back in and finish the tale. Lots of thanks to Anne for helping me with the boy's name - she endured both my horrible texting skills and my effusive, self-aggrandizing description of the plan for the series, and gave me a name I'm quite pleased with.

All the rough sketches have been filled in now. Enjoy!


Many thousands of years ago, during the Xiaomin dynasty, the Emperor Wu ordered a Fox hunt, for he had heard many tales of the powerful magics held in Fox's tail, and desired this power to protect his legacy. For years, many men chased Fox, desperate to gain the reward and favor that would grace the one victorious; but none succeeded. Continue reading "The Iron Khan"

A task LONG overdue, I upgraded a number of software packages on this machine (including the versions of the database software, the httpd, the PHP engine, and the S9Y blogging platform itself).

If anyone notices anything amiss, please let me know ASAP through the standard channels, and thanks for tuning into to Radio Homestarmy.

These are the memoirs of a man who never lived. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Part 1: Outrageous Fortune

To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.

William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act III, Scene I

I grew up under the thumb of a particular kind of tyrant.

When I was fourteen years old, my father came into the house one Saturday morning and ordered my older brother and I to wait for him in the car. As a general rule, getting Dad's attention was a bad thing; I can't think of a single time in my teenage years where I actually wanted my Dad to pay attention to me, because that usually meant a beating was about to ensue.

Frantically whispering to each other about deeds we may have done to incur his wrath this time, my brother and I climbed into the back seat of our Jeep Wagoneer. My hands began to shake, and a small voice in the back of my mind whispered "This is it. This is where he takes us out into the woods, kills us, and hides the bodies." Perhaps that seems to you a bit melodramatic, but it was - for me - a *very* real concern.

As Dad entered the garage, the hushed conversation stopped, and we both stared expectantly out the window as he got in and pulled the vehicle out of our long driveway. We rode in silence up Utah's Highway 89 about 5 miles, almost to the Baker Reservoir turnoff. Without warning, he pulled the car onto the shoulder and shut off the engine. We sat there, no one moving or saying anything, for several minutes. I hardly dared breathe, some irrational part of my brain thinking that if I stayed small enough, quiet enough, inconspicuous enough - maybe I'd escape his wrath this time.

Calmly as you please, my father turned around in his seat and made eye contact with me. The disgust on his face was plain, and quickly became more annoyance as his eyes flicked away from me and settled on my older brother. *Maybe it was Ben this time,* my heart quailed in vain.

"You're both old enough now that I thought you should know," he began. "I don't love you - either of you. I never have, and I never will. As far as I'm concerned, you're not my sons." This pronouncement delivered, he turned back around, started the car, and drove home.

To this day, I have no idea what prompted the event, but I feel no shame in saying that I was glad that the worst thing that happened to me that day was to have my father tell me he never loved me. I'd once seen him beat my brother Ben senseless for eating the last Otter Pop in the freezer - he'd apparently been saving it for himself for later, something he neglected to tell anyone else. It was simply part of the every day tyranny of our lives: learn to anticipate every thought Dad has in his head, or suffer the wrathful consequences.

When we piled out of the car on our return home, nerves jangling from the rush of adrenaline that came from every interaction with my father, I looked at the door to the house and saw my mother standing there. In her haunted eyes I saw a shadow of the same fear, the same dread that had filled me on our departure. I did my best to give her a smile through the overpowering urge to vomit as my adrenal system crashed.

I won't pretend to understand what drives a man to do the kind of things my father did to his children, but I can say - with no hint of sarcasm - that many of the things I've been able to accomplish in my life have been made possible because of the strength that was beaten into me from an early age.

But this strength - the kind of strength that comes from beatings and oppression - is not enough to drive one forward; without a foundational faith - a cause, something to believe in - this kind of strength turns only inward, consuming the one so strengthened under the weight of its passion. For that other kind of strength - the internal fire that was able to make the steel malleable, to enable me to mold and shape that strength into productive channels - I must thank that woman who met us on our return from that fateful car trip.

Many people, when they hear about the things my father did to us (and to her) assume that my mother was a weak woman. They could not possibly underestimate her more. Sometimes, certainly, I wonder what might have been different in my life had my mother made the choice to leave him; but never would I suggest that it was weakness that caused her to stay with him. On the contrary, it took a far greater strength than I've ever seen another human being directly exhibit.

There are lots of things I will share about my mother over the course of these stories, but the kernel of them all is this: she showed me - from an early age and throughout my life - how to face the consequences of your choices. There's really not an option in this life - if you've sown the wind, you WILL reap the whirlwind. However, it takes that inner fire to not only survive the reaping, but make it your harvest, and grow strong from its buffeting winds.

I can distinctly remember a moment, later in my teenage years, that will illustrate the kind of woman my mother was. My parents own a small gun safe with an electronic lock; when you put your hands inside these indentations, and curled your fingers around the outer wall of the safe, you could feel the series of four buttons on each hand that comprised the "combination." The setup was such that an outsider could not see your fingers, so you wouldn't have to expose the combination of switch presses and releases that triggered the lock.

Just in case the owner should ever forget the combination, there was a small, tubular pin tumbler lock. We kids discovered that if one were to walk around the carpet dragging their feet - so as to build up a static charge - and touch the exposed metal of the tumbler lock, the ensuing spark would temporarily short-circuit the locking mechanism, allowing one to pull the safe open.

I'll not sugar coat things - I was a very angry, very depressed teen-ager. I still strongly suspect that I have been functioning with undiagnosed Type II Bipolar Disorder for most of my life. I tell you this - not as an excuse - but merely to frame what is to come. You see, I had used the static shock trick to open that safe, and had taken a gun and some ammunition out, with the intent of killing myself.

As I sat on the second-story porch of our home, taking what I thought would be my last look at the beauty of the world, and wondering why none of it ever touched the dark places inside me, I heard the screen door slide open. My mother came out and sat next to me on the white metal bench, looking out at the same view.

"I prayed for you," she said. I turned, puzzled, and she expanded on her thought. "Before you were born, I mean. As each of you were born, your father used to joke 'well, we know who the mother is, but who is the father?' Well, I prayed to Heavenly Father to send me a son that would be dark haired and dark skinned, like my family." Tears in her eyes, she choked on the last words: "You give me hope, son." Then she stood, and went back inside.

I gave her hope. With all the anger, the bitterness and sorrow that were eating me from the inside out, I was giving HER hope. I began to consider the selfishness of the act I was contemplating, and realized how unfair it would be to her - and the few other people in my life that had expressed love to me - if I were to give up now...and I swore I would never be so weak again.

I don't think she ever knew what she had averted - but that was the part that made it so profound. She may not have known how much - or how to help - but she could tell that I was hurting, and reached for something that might give me strength. I never gave up again.

And so it is today - as I face the jeering crowds, the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" - that I stand perhaps bloody, but unbowed. Because of the steel beaten into my bones, and the fire set alight in my heart.

I'm claiming a medical hardship waiver for my entry being a week late. It's a mediocre section this week, as we're getting near the end of book four and threads need to be wound down. Continue reading "The Shadow Rising (Chapters 49-54)"

For me, these chapters are really great; probably the best part of book four so far. I don't recall choosing these chapters on purpose, but we get in this 5 chapter segment exactly the kind of depth of universe development that I love in Jordan's books (and find lacking in most other "epic fantasy"). Had an interesting discussion with MG the other day about how just as he's starting to get excited about the books, I'm hitting some of the rocky parts that make the series difficult for me. Thankfully, after this read-through is done, I won't ever again have to hear the glorification of women manipulating men to get what they want, and men being "wool-headed" fools, falling for it every time. Continue reading "The Shadow Rising (Chapters 19-24)"

Some cool stuff about Aiel, plus glimpses of what's going on with the Mat/Thom thread, and the Perrin/Faile/Moiraine/Lan/Loial. It's usually at this point in this book where I start to think "You know, for a book titled 'The Dragon Reborn', we sure don't spend much time around...you know, the *actual* Dragon Reborn." Continue reading "The Dragon Reborn (Chapters 38-43)"

Sorry this is so late, everyone. It's been a really rough week. The early chapters were rough going - I don't know about you lot, but I'm pretty much done with the Hounds of Tar Valon for a while - but some good Mat stuff later on, and Thom comes back! Continue reading "The Dragon Reborn (Chapters 26-31)"

Great chapters - thanks to MG for trading me, and additionally for setting himself up so perfectly :)

About half of this post had to be cut because I realized it was full of spoilers. I'll save it for later.

Chapter 13 was previously accidentally left out of my post; it has now been appended. Continue reading "Wolves and the World of Dreams, pt. 1"

Sorry this is late, been trying to run a campaign for office in the UCRP. Chapters summarized below the fold, but general tone: Jordan was still thinking he'd wrap this up in three books. In some ways, I'm glad he failed. Continue reading "The Great Hunt (Chapters 42-47): The Heron Wading in the Rushes"

I really enjoy these chapters because they start to humanize the Aes Sedai a little bit - we can start to understand the environmental factors that lead to them behaving the way they do. Chapter specific thoughts below the fold. Continue reading "The Great Hunt: Chapters 18-23"

I hate our blog. Twice now it has eaten posts > 2k words on this topic. I'm not doing it again - not tonight. I like book one; I wish Harriet hadn't edited the series; I wish James Rigney and Peter Jackson had known each other. Fin.

Good chapters; with 75% of the book behind us, I can definitely feel that "end of the novel" approach starting to loom. The 3-way rift in the party is healed as Moriaine, Lan, and Nynaeve find first Perrin and Egwene, then Rand and Mat. Long-held secrets are revealed, including the boys' dreams and Mat's Mashadarian dagger, and some subplots are tied up while deeper roots are laid for the later novels. We are introduced to more forms of prophecy, some information about Rand's heritage (he appears to have Aiel blood), and we hear of the Green Man, the Eye of the World, and meet the ruling family of Camelyn - including the Daughter-Heir Elayne, who finds Rand handsome.

More below the jump... Continue reading "Eye of the World Chapters 37-42"

These are some great chapters, and I'm glad I get to cover them. I don't know how anyone else is feeling about the series at this point, but I really enjoy the way Jordan is so carefully weaving each character's fate deeper and deeper into the very history of the land they travel across; almost without exception, every event that happens in these chapters has much a much deeper repurcussion later in the series (some of them, over and over again). While a lot of annoying recurring themes get introduced here, I did love Perrin's struggles with the "Way of the Leaf"; this struggle between a loving and pacifist acceptance of fate and the desire to affect one's own destiny is something that resonates VERY strongly for me. Chapter recaps, and some more of my thoughts, below the fold. Continue reading "The Eye of the World (Chapters 29-30)"

I just got the following from the Data Center:


Ticket description: Equipment Upgrade
Ticket category: Colocation Services

As our commitment to keep your services the best possible, we have placed new equipment that will effect your collocation service. We are ready to make the switch over and will need to physically move your colocation cable from the old router to the new one. We will also be moving your ip’s to the new router. Since we are ready, it will include only about 5-15 seconds of downtime.
We will be making the move Friday night (1/18/13) starting at 11pm to 1am Saturday morning (1/19/13). If there is a slot in this time frame that would work best for you, please let us know. If we don't hear from you, then we will make the move during that time.
Thank you, Dylan Fibernet Data Center Operations Manager


Unless I hear from one of you indicating otherwise, I will request they move us as close to the start of that window as possible.

Here is my first summary. As you publish your own, please make sure to categorize them under "Wheel of Time Read-Through".

Note that I wrote considerably greater detail than I would expect anyone else to write, because I like to write, and I *really* like to write about WoT. I included a few *tiny* pieces of information that are not directly evident from the novels themselves, but come instead from the many external resources I have collected over the years to help my own understanding and appreciation of this series.

I'll start with the tl;dr, which is somewhat closer to what I imagine most of you will be writing, and put the full write-up behind the jump. So, without further ado, I give you The Eye of the World - Prologue through Chapter 6.

tl;dr
3000 years ago: A powerful magic user named “Lews Therin Telamon” (or the Dragon) nearly destroyed the world in a fit of madness, and then DID destroy himself, creating a new mountain in the process.

Now: The boy Rand al’Thor and his friends Mat and Perrin have been seeing a disturbing image of a rider dressed in black, but it cannot spoil the Bel Tine Festival with a gleeman, regal-looking visitors from beyond the Two Rivers, fireworks, and a peddler bringing news of War, and a man claiming to be the Dragon.

However, all these excitements do lose their appeal when Tam and Rand are attacked by Trollocs - monsters directly out of the stories used to scare children. As he tows his wounded and fevered father back to town on a litter, Rand is shocked and dismayed to hear Tam mumble about how he found the freshly-born Rand near the corpse an unknown woman on a field of battle, and brought him home to be raised by Tam and his wife as if it were their own child. Continue reading "WOTR: Getting the Ball Rolling"