Okay, slight delay on that first chapter. Looks like Llew rolled a random encounter on the way to Gwynedd. I sure didn’t see that coming….
A stone arena that makes Stonehenge look like a tiny plaything by comparison has been discovered underground only a mile away from Stonehenge (through a magic called science).
Moriganna has plans for Stonehenge. And yet, why would she bother with that when this is available? And it’s right there….
Like the guys trying to prevent the use of “autonomous” armed vehicles in warfare (robots). I honestly don’t believe it can be done. I’m far from convinced it is even the right thing to do. Trying to get all nations to do “the right thing” (once you’ve formed an opinion of what the right thing is) with any new technology puts me in mind of an old saying:
“That is all very well, but who is to bell the Cat?”
Æsop. (Sixth century B.C.) Fables.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Then again, maybe it’s a matter of the turnip or the club.
“Should entire breeds of dogs be banned? One expert says “no.” Dog behavior is more the result of treatment and training than breeding, she believes.
Either issue might be one where Moriganna and Llew would take different viewpoints on.
So there really is a smart drug. I’ll take five dozen bottles, please!
Amazon needs a special filter button that, when toggled, permanently stops it from displaying any book where a hairless male chest takes up a big chunk of the cover. It doesn’t seem to matter what the book claims it is. They are always trying to escape their own genre and contaminate another, be it Celtic fantasy, military sci-fi, mystery, occult, paranormal, crime, anti-terrorism, spies, or whatever. Every one of them more properly belongs to a single genre that I would not read if I was trapped in the men’s room at the airport for weeks with nothing else to read. Since I normally read a book every day or two — about every three or four when I am writing — that’s saying a lot.
Some people like that genre a lot, and that’s fine. For me it would probably be an experience on par with what claustrophobic people worry about — that, once they give in and start smashing their fists against the walls, a self-destructive madness will take hold and they will never be able to recover.