Jared AxelrodWriter of Adventure

Still recovering from the gauntlet of joy that is Balticon, I opened my email with bleary eyes to discover this message from Lulu.com:

“Congratulations, your book has been selected for listing on Amazon.com’s Marketplace! As a result, your book will now be easily found on the world’s largest online bookseller. ”

That would be this book, here:

Astounded, I searched for my name on Amazon.  Sure enough, there it is. So, if you find yourself hankering for 50 pieces of weirdness (plus illustrations!) by yours truly, here you go. It’s ready for you at Amazon.

Also, If anyone knows how I can put a cover and some interior pages up there, I’d sure appreciate it. I’ve got all sorts of content for that page.

And thanks, Lulu.

I don’t roleplay that much.

It’s not that I look down on it, or think it’s a waste of time. I’ve been an avid roleplayer in the past, and bought many and sundry books, dice and miniatures. I love pouring over descriptions of character types, race option and special abilities. I love building characters, creating backstories and weaving those histories in with the other players. But once we get started, tend to get frustrated.

I wish I could lay the blame on the storytellers, and say I was just playing a bad game, but this has happened over and over. I’ve played with rule-lawyers and easy narrators, dice worshipers and laid-back judges and everyone else in between. I’ve even run games myself, with the same result (I should point out that while the players in the game I ran were never frustrated, I was—well, Brendan might have been, what with his character being constantly turned into a monkey). I can only conclude that since I am the common factor in these situations, it must be my problem. It is not you, game masters; it is me.

Most likely, it’s the call of the writing I should be working on, instead of enjoying myself making things up with friends. I recently decided to quit roleplaying altogether, and use that weekly game time to make things up solo. And I was okay with that. Until of course, I got the best idea for a roleplaying session ever.

It was a standard D&D story concept: journey across dangerous lands to a forbidden kingdom to save a princess. Only in this game, all the PCs would be…bards!

Yes, I know. It’s too awesome an idea for words, isn’t it?

Gathering up some of the best roleplayers I know—J.R. (natch), Russell, Kate, and Alex—I gave them basic character concepts and had them run with it. The result is a delightfully eccentric group of performers. I talk about them here, but then, that’s what the wiki is for. It’s a short-run game, with a clear beginning, middle and end, and should wrap up in three or four sessions. These elements, combined with more pre-game writing than I’ve ever done, were supposed to help me relax and enjoy the game. You know, what roleplaying is for.

Turns out, it all worked.

The first game went along swimmingly. A lot of this is due to how hilarious this group of is (I was going to record and podcast this game, but decided against it at the last minute. After laughing for four straight hours, I now regret this choice), but some credit must be given to my exhaustive planning of the world. Not everything I planned out was used in the game, but was able to handle surprise questions by the players quickly and easily because of all that planning. I guess, when it comes to running a game, you cannot over-world-build. Who would have thought that the fact that all messenger’s capes are purple and worn on the left shoulder would become a plot point? You may not need to reveal all this information at once, but it’s important to know it.

So, in Game 1, our motley crew met with a frustratingly specific messenger, ferry-stealing toughs, a hungry land shark, a stuck-up hero, a grief-ridden monarch, a squire’s poetry, and a band of long-bow wielding thieves. What will happen when they cross the cursed Fields of the Spiderbirds, next game? Who knows?

Well, I do. Vaguely. I’m still working it out. Next session’s not for another month or so…

Favorite moments

- The argument with the royal messenger, as illustrated above. More than anything, this exchange was something I wish I had recorded. Well, this and the argument with their playwright that preceded it.

- The land shark encounter. I asked Alex to find me a random monster for this scene, and he came up with the Bulette, an awesome classic beasty. Needless to day, this encounter involved an awful lot of running.

- One of the goals this session was to delay Flashheart, a powerful–if obnoxious–hero who has the same goal as our bards. The team split into two, with JR delaying Flashheart directly and the other three messing with his horse and squire, Potzu. This proved more difficult than expected, what with Flashheart’s horse being intelligent and Potzu being a poet. But not only did they pull it off, but they also left a note! Now, that’s style.

Download here

The Jugulites will not allow you to land on their planet, as they have a deep-seated distrust of off-worlders. Despite your best efforts, the Jugulites will fire on your diplomatic vessal, severely damaging it beyond repair. As you float aimlessly through space with only the barest of life-support, the Jugulites will apologize but will not help you, as they will say that your ship started it, by looking at them funny.

Photo by J.R. Blackwell

It Appears To Be A Planet of…Pandas, sent from the phone

Before you wreck yourself.

Seriously. Go see STAR TREK. It’s as awesome as SERENITY, but without that bitter aftertaste.

Download here

The pleasure planet of Orlandeer offers many delights for the weary traveler. It is recommended that you not spent too much time in the soothing Orlandeerian Mud-Pits of Relaxation. While the Orlandeerian mud will be soothing and stimulating, the noxious smell will follow you long after the relaxation has faded

Balticon, one of the best conventions on the Eastern seaboard,  doth approach. While I have trimmed my con-going schedule this year, Balticon was a jewel I could not cast aside. “But Jared,” you might ask, “What can you possibly do at a convention with a shattered ankle?” Due to the magic of a loaner wheelchair (thanks, Skott), I will be all over the con, as you can see:

 Live! Escape Pod - Sat 10am 
Steve Eley’s pulling out all the stops for this one, with a full cast reading of Rogue Farm by Balticon’s Guest of Honor Charlie Stross. I’m not going to crow about it before Steve does, but I will say this: I play a farmer. You’re excited now, aren’t you?

Doing It Daily - Sat 1pm
I’m teaming up with the lovely and talented JR Blackwell, Billy Fynn of Geek Radio Daily, and the ever-awesome Christiana Ellis (you do listen to Shallow Thoughts, right?) to talk about the agony and ecstasy of daily projects. Considering how funny the other three people are on this panel, I’ll probably just end up laughing through most of it. So, I’ll have a good time.

Live! Aliens You Will Meet- Sat 3pm
Are you prepared for…INTERGALACTIC IDOL, the reality competition that scours the galaxy to find new solo musical talent? ‘Cause it’s coming to Balticon, kiddies! With George Hrab representing Earth, we may be a shoe-in for that II crown! But who knows what other aliens will compete? Featuring new puppets created by JR and myself and new music by AYWM composer Russell Collins!

Live! Mr. Adventure - Sat 10pm
Bringing more Golden-Age two-fisted adventure than you can shake a stick at, the Mr. Adventure crew never cease to amaze me with their balls-to-wall Balticon scripts. No one takes advantage of the sheer level of talent available at Batlicon like Mr. Adventure, and I’m sure this year will be no exception.

Podcasting and Music  - Sun noon
I’ll be joining Dave Slusher, Phil Rossi, and Chris Lester to talk about…podcasting and music.  Kinda what it says on the tin, there. Should be a hoot.

Kraken’s Jersey - Sun 8pm
Ah, the legendary year-long Kraken’s Quest.  I’ve been asked to host this look back on the one of the most epic pranks in podcasting history, something I could not possibly say no to. Will all be revealed?  Will Tee Morris get his jersey back?  Or is this just another tease?  Only way to find out is to be there!

Now, the only question remains: Should I shave my head and be Professor X while I’m there? Being Jimmy Stewart in REAR WINDOW was also brought up. That does mean I could attend the con in my pajamas…

This story, about a sideshow of the undead in the wild west, has always been one of my favorites. I thought I’d lost it back when I accidentally deleted most of my stories a year ago.   Just found it this morning, and I was so excited it still exists, I thought I’d share the beginning:

The last town Ol’ Doc Cadaver’s Living Dead Traveling Museum performed at was miles back, but the loss of money still ate at Obediah. As soon as the town of Sanguine as soon as a town appeared on the horizon, Obediah Cadaver gave a whistle to the mules and the brought the chain of carts to a shuddering stop. He was gonna make damn sure his performers stayed in line this time. Not another Tombstone, not on his watch.

Obediah was a squat man, so it took some time for him to get from to the driver’s seat at the head cart to the ground. But once he touched dust, he gathered himself up in the manner and bearing of much larger man. “Y’all listen up and listen square. The family, they ain’t got sense no more” Obediah said, motioning to the three skeletal figures hunched in the corner of the last cart. “I don’t ask much of them. But what’s you two’s excuse? Ol’ Doc Cadaver’s Living Dead Traveling Museum is a show, gawdammit! It’s a gawdamn show. Is it too much to ask ya’ to crack a smile? I know for a stone fact it ain’t gonna kill ya!”

The hulk in the first cart shook his massive wrists, causing the thick chain that bound them to clank against the iron bars that made up the cart’s side. His mismatched eyes pierced through the shadow of the cart, glowing coals in the dust and darkness.

“Ah, hell no!” Obediah spat brown tobacco slime into the dust. “Not after that stunt’n Tombstone! Made me look like a damn jackass! You think for one heartbeat I’m gonna give ya a chance to pull that shit again? Hell no! Chains stay on, you hear me? The chains stay on and you’re gonna like it! ” Obediah punctuated this last remark with another ejaculation of tobacco spit, hitting the figure crouching in the cart square in the forehead. He didn’t flinch at the impact, not even when the muddy ichor dripped down his scarred and stitched brow and seeped into his left eye.

Obediah kicked the dirt nervously in front of him. “Look, Big Fella. I’ll tell you true: you give these folk a show to remember, an’ we’ll see ’bout given you some roamin’ space once we’re outta sight? Howdja like that?”

“Ooooo…do I get a piece of a that?” said the woman in the second cart, her voice unspooling like smoke. Dusty velvet curtains rustled against the cart’s silver-plated bars, as the woman inside moved unseen. “I could use some roaming space.”

“You’re lucky you get space at all. Iffin your good, I’ll feed ya to night. How’s that for a deal?” Obediah waddled over to the last cart, running his scabby hand over the velvet curtains and silver bars has he passed them. At the third cart, Obediah removed his hat, scratched at the little hair he had left. He regarded the three smelly figures behind the tooth-gnawed bars. “What ’bout you three? Gots anything you wanna say?”

“Rrrraaaarrrrrr….” came a high-pitched wail from the little one.

“I thought s’much,” Obediah said as he adjusted his hat, and went to the business of clamoring back to the driver’s seat. There were easier ways to make a living than a freak show of the undead, Obediah knew that. But few were more profitable. And he could smell the money coming from the town of Sanguine, still miles up ahead.

I broke my ankle the Saturday before last.  Legend states that that it went down like this:

Who am I to contradict legend?

In any case, I can state that I was at Princeton, as the sharp-eyed might have gleamed from the photo.  I did jump off that wall, and I did land improperly on the ground below. There was the sicking “SNAP” that no one wants to hear when they land, followed by  quieter one when I crumpled to the grass. My ankle had fractured in three places, which mean thatI could feel the bones grinding into each other as I moved my leg.  It was like a handful of gravel was underneath my skin.

If I had to break some bones, I did it in the best way possible. I was with friends, who handled the whole “calling 911″ thing as well as provided cupcakes in the hosptial later. Princeton’s campus MTs arrived straight away, and were quickly followed by paramedics from the just-around-the-corner Princeton Medical Center.  With the exception of  a clearly absentminded general practitioner who splinted my leg in a panifully incorrect manner–the orthopedist removed it with clear disgust–the staff at the hospital was cheerful and helpful. Plus, I had JR there, from  fall to surgery to release.

I was told by many that handled the whole thing well, joking and laughing instead of screaming and crying. Which should come as no surprise, really.  That’s just how I live my life.