Welcome, Ruin Said, To Godhood.

Normally, I Have A Lot Of Alpha Readers On My Books. These Are People That, Once I Finish A Novel, I Let Them Look At It And Give Me A Reader Response.

Raoden Turned To Regard The Large Dula. "what Does It Matter? It's Not Like We Have Anything Pressing To Do. It's Actually Quite Pleasant Up Here—you Should Just Sit Back And Enjoy It." An Ominous Crash Came From The Clouds Above Them, And Raoden Felt A Wet Drop Splat Against His Head. "fantastic," Galladon Grumbled. "i'm Enjoying Myself Already.

I Have A Smoke Grenade In My Room," I Said. "what?" Megan Asked. "how?" "i Grew Up Working At A Munitions Plant," I Said. "we Mostly Made Rifles And Handguns, But We Worked With Other Factories. I Got To Pick Up The Occasional Goody From The Qc Reject Pile." "a Smoke Grenade Is A Goody?" Cody Asked. I Frowned. What Did He Mean? Of Course It Was. Who Wouldn't Want A Smoke Grenade When Offered One?

Those Candle Flames Were Like The Lives Of Men. So Fragile. So Deadly. Left Alone, They Lit And Warmed. Let Run Rampant, They Would Destroy The Very Things They Were Meant To Illuminate. Embryonic Bonfires, Each Bearing A Seed Of Destruction So Potent It Could Tumble Cities And Dash Kings To Their Knees.

People See In Stories What They’re Looking For, My Young Friend.