I really hated to create this thread because obviously it is about my work. (And I'm not kidding either. I really did hate to.) However I needed to get this topic out of the introductions thread without "erasing history," so I pretty much had to. Henceforth the conversation will be here.

Chant had the same idea.

Well, if you want a sample, I can post something from the "silly stuff" ... but just a small clip. What I do for personal entertainment smacks entirely too much of my sentimental (albeit former) attachment to video game RPGs (actually the story blossomed out of an idea for a video game role playing game I had intended to make once), and my infatuation with the Japanese animation my morality now more or less keeps me away from. Basically, it's very much like both of those things, minus what keeps me away from those things. Which means at best it's still too silly and weird to be anything but personal entertainment. Plus it breaks my personal rule that any fantasy story ought to have it's own languages, and not use existing ones. (Shame on me.)

But here is a clip from my personal silliness. Names have been omitted.:


   

Chapter One: Mist

   In the misty rain, as the last light of day stole out of the green mountain valley, two feet clad in poor leather boots trudged slowly and heavily over the worn dirt path. Behind them, two wheels of wood left their faint impression in the dirt softened by the rain, and upon the wooden cart to which they belonged, lay a load heavy to it's carrier for reasons more than merely physical.
   Along the path, some of the simple farming folk of the small village looked on with eyes barely touched with the sadness the village woman's death ought to have brought them, while the eyes of some others were hardened in cold determination. Still the cart continued past them, onward beyond the limits of their village, and out toward the hills that led up into the mountains in which their valley lay. There the young man stopped with his burden, among the little mounds of green and piles of stones on the hillside cemetery.
   S______a Y_______u pulled the spade from beside the still form on the cart, and started a hole beside the grave of his grandfather, whose own last words to him had been so bitter and cruel. As the point dug into the soft earth beneath the weight of his foot, he recalled another bitter time long past; the day he had lost his own parents without knowing it then.
   His grandmother had been his last link to the only world he'd ever known. A world of farms and a simple life, and a simple people. With her had died his life there, and the smell of the exposed earth now moistened by the rain only drove the melancholy thought home to him.
   He was only eighteen. By all rights, he should have been picking a wife and settling down to his own life there in S_____o, the village of his birth. Others his own age would be making the beginnings of a more permanent life there. Instead, he knew something very different was going to happen.

 Yes... I make long sentences. But considering my posts, that shouldn't be surprising. lol

-Edit- Seems you did miss something. "The Ground Between Us" was the last even remotely good poem I've done probably in some years.

 I just meant that I tend to be long winded as a rule. (Case and point... I didn't need those last three words.)