Thursday, February 25, 2016

William Myrl; Letters to No One (37)

Dear No One,
I have been terribly lax in communicating with you. The last letter I typed wasn't sent because of a computer issue, that issue being a new generation of music players. The illustrious jp4 has been replaced with the brilliantly nominated jp5, and during the transition I lost six emails, but overall I am pleased with the change. It is much easier to type now, though the system came equipped with a delightful bug that will erase messages as you type them, it took me about seven tries to figure that one out.
So let me update you on my life. They are doing the Washington and Lee class again, and this years topic is "Freedom and Unfreedom". They have issued invitations to last years participants, but many of them have received charges within the window that makes them ineligible. Hopefully they will be opening the application. process soon to fill the four or five empty slots. Last year, as you may recall, I submitted a catty poem that I fear was not taken seriously. This year, I am going to make every effort to take part in the class.
I am designing and play-testing a board game, a bridge between Risk and Warhammer based in my Mythopoeiac cosmos. The process is a lot of fun, and I have four players at the moment who've been along for most of the ride. Ender pretends to be miffed because I suggested we make a game collaboratively and then did it all myself, but truly, things don't get done unless I do them. Now he's basing a game of his own on my system, so we may have two to play if he ever gets around to making a real effort. 
This morning I listened to an older gentleman retell how he was stabbed in the ear with a fork. It happened in the chow hall, when a young man informed him he could have taken his breakfast sausages if he had wanted to. The fellow replied that the only thing he could take was a little boys butt, at which point he turned around and was promptly stabbed in the ear. A tussle ensued, broken up by the police, as such things are. Because the pods mingle in the chow hall it is prime fighting real estate. In any case, I have no doubt of the general veracity of the tale, because there is nothing in it that is outrageous to me. I find that that, in itself, is slightly outrageous.

William Myrl 

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