CM Simpson: Writer & Gamer

  A Caution on Gathak’nor When I started to write this, I was thinking of writing a nonsense poem. Instead, I ended up with a cautionary tale inspired by speculation of what the poetry of the future might be about, if it followed old Earth patterns of verse, and the storytelling tradition—and by the idea that not all the worlds humanity reaches will be friendly and benign, even if they look habitable. This verse was written on April 15, 2017, to celebrate National Poetry Month , and as the April 15 entry for Another 365 Days of Poetry . I spasmed in the Gathak’nor and tumbled down the hill. In the wake of dandelions, the bluebells seemed to spill clouds of pus and whitened bone, as I found the river bank and tumbled o’er the brink into a torrid torrent rank and, in case you’re wond’ring, why I was walking Gathak’nor, when the planet is forbidden and will remain so evermore, t’is because I found a signal, something faint that called, and I rode t

Finally, I have also made the first release for May available for pre-order. When the plane carrying P.O.S. Officer Schaeffer goes down, it’s no accident. She and her partner lose the prisoner they’re escorting to trial, and the local elves nearly lose their lives protecting the unicorns and a grove of dryads. With the aircraft and its passengers on the ground, Schaeffer has to secure her prisoner before the woman can create any more mischief—and with dusk closing, the local unicorns seeking vengeance, and the trolls beginning to stir it’s not going to be easy. A Matter of Justice is set in a world where magic has returned, pixie dust is the new drug of choice, and humans live side by side with creatures of legend. With new crimes forming around new resources and new markets, the Paranormal Operations Squad, walks the edge of two worlds, trying to bring justice to both.

It was a beautiful Canberra autumn day,and I'd been cooped up at home for most of the week with a little one that was under the weather, and an essay on Wittek's ghazi theory to complete, so, with the little one in safe hands, and the essay done bar a few extra references and some formatting, I went walking. I needed a long walk just to clear the cobwebs, and Ingress had just the thing. I'd started a mission series a few weeks ago, and hadn't been able to get out to finish it, until today, when I set out to complete the last 9 missions in the set... and maybe add a few more kilometres towards the trekkers medal, while hatching a few eggs for PokemonGo. Well, that was the plan, anyway - and it worked beautifully. The buses ran on time, and I was down by Lake Burley Griffin by half ten or so, finishing Enlightened agent, Wharty's, pictoral series called The Burley Trail. Starting at the National Carillon, the Trail takes you along the edge of the lake to the Co

With the Lame Man, One Written on April 14, 2017, to celebrate National Poetry Month , this piece is an experimental form about an attempted assassination, perhaps influenced by the sound of the old television series of Dune playing in the background—but only a little. “Walk,” the lame man said, and I obeyed. I took first one step and then another. Behind me, I heard him whisper, “Run.” “Run,” he said, and I obeyed. I sped my steps, each one falling faster than the one that went before. “Run!” he said, when I hesitated. “Run!” And his voice compelled me, each stride driven by its sound, when I wanted nothing more than to turn back, to return and rescue him. “Run!” His words roared through me, and I obeyed, their compulsion too strong, unexpected, an order that settled inside my head and overrode my mind. And then, when I felt that all was lost, that I had lost him, and my heart, he said, “Stop,”