Death Comes to Those Who Wait…

There are only so many hits a guy can take before he falls, you know.  We have learned this lesson from such popular icons as Boromir, Anakin Skywalker, and that one guy on Wii boxing.  And though a rubber ball can bounce high on the first day out of the box, it eventually breaks apart into pieces.  This, my friends, is how I feel…  I get a blog award, think it’s over, then get it shot back at me.

By popular request, I will be accepting the Liebster Blog Award for the second time in this blog’s history.  Granted, the first post about this was extremely wimpy and under 200 words, and the award didn’t have the same rules back then.  So it’s like getting a new blog award.

That’s what I tell myself.

I know the end is near.  It must be near.  I can feel Death over my shoulder, breathing down my neck with breath tasting of… lamb chops?

Whatever the chosen diet of my demise, I know I must face my destiny.  The other option is that I insult it, but Destiny is vindictive and conniving when she’s mad.  Better to just square my shoulders and face up to her.

You all must feel it.  My tolerance of these things is waning; I could barely muster a good opening paragraph.  I’m still not exactly pleased with the rubber ball simile.

Destiny is waiting, and she isn’t very nice when she’s impatient.  Come to think of it, she isn’t very nice at all.  Don’t tell her I said that.

So without further ado, the Liebster Blog Award, which was awarded me by the proprietor of Musings From Neville’s Navel.  [I don’t fully understand the name either, Destiny– perhaps you can ask her about it when you two meet.]

I prefer lobsters, actually.

As I said, it comes with new rules, which I shall read to you from the little memo book Death is handing me now…  [I love the design, by the way.  Did you do it yourself?  Your granddaughter?  Charming.]

“The Liebster Award is for bloggers with fewer than 200 followers. Award winners share 11 facts about themselves, answer the 11 questions asked by the blogger who tagged them, come up with 11 of their own questions and tag 11 more bloggers with the award.”

This seems awfully familiar, even though the rules have changed.  [You’re sure you gave me the right page, Death?  Which one was it that it seems alike to?  Oh, yes, that one award where you just tag other bloggers.  That one was all elevens too.  Well, I’ll do it.  …Dude, watch where you’re waving that scythe.  You could put an eye out.]

First of all come the eleven facts:

  1. I find myself deferring to the facts I gave the last time I had to give eleven facts.
  2. I now have an inkling of what Phil Phorce 3 is going to be about.  Do any of you hate Quirk?  [Okay, Destiny, you can put your hand down now.  Death, I already told you about the scythe– down.]  You’ll hate him more after this thing.  Intrigue!  Manipulation!  All that good stuff!  [No, Death, no one dies.  And threatening to kill me won’t do anything for it.]
  3. I’m wondering a little bit whether I’ve put too many or too few story elements in Fathoming Egression.  I want this thing to go about to 100k– eighty at least.  The thing is that the ending is coming on too soon, but I’ve forgotten some of the things that could have made the story longer had I woven them in sooner.  For instance, who wants to kill the new main character?  [That was rhetorical, Death.  I know you’ve got dibs.]
  4. Speaking of Fathoming Egression, it is now something like Ing Egression; I had Fathom killed in a shipwreck.  [Death…  Enough.  This is not cause for champagne.  Not before dinner, at least.  And anyway, it’s just one soul; I don’t have enough money to pay for all the bottles you’ll go through if I kill everyone.]
  5. I have finished Twenty Years After (the sequel to The Three Musketeers, by Alexander Dumas) and loved the ending.  Dumas is a master.  He managed to incorporate every character still living after the first book into this story, and yet it didn’t feel like the second Pirates of the Caribbean, where no one new was introduced.  This at least disguised the old friends so that we don’t know their identities until the last page.  With all the capers those four friends pull off, I’m in perfect agreement with the Queen of France: “These men are invincible.”  [Your breath stinks, Death; here’s a mint.  No, Destiny, you don’t get one.  I’m trying to ration them for later tonight– I’m expecting a few dragons.  Death!  You do not try to chop up the mint with your scythe!  You’ll scratch the varnish of the table!]
  6. I quite like my theme for this post: Death and Destiny are some fun characters to play around with.  I feel like Rick Riordan– this is the only thing that really makes him that funny.  If he didn’t have the mythology to make fun of, he would be nothing but another crime writer from Texas.  Death says he quite likes crime, as long as it ends in a fatality.  Destiny prefers courtroom dramas and political intrigue.
  7. I realized a few days ago that two songs I love– the Battle Hymn of the Republic and Do You Hear the People Sing? from Les Miserables– are extremely alike.  I’ll have to look into that.  [This must be a first for you two– you actually agree?  Well, I can’t argue.  When it comes to death and destiny {I didn’t mean you… I mean the concepts!} there is no greater story than Les Miserables.  Yes, Death, everyone dies.  Yes, I’m sure you helped with the sets.  Destiny, you liar, you were not the costume designer.  Be quiet so I can move on to number eight.]
  8. It’s ironic: my first post for the Liebster award was less than 200 words.  This one is already over a thousand.  [Oi, Destiny, does that mean anything for Fathoming Egression?  Perhaps my second draft will be five times as long!  …Can’t promise, huh?  Oh, well.  It was worth a shot.]
  9. Death seems to be a big fan of that Write or Die thing– especially the suicide setting.  For those who don’t know, Write or Die is a computer program of sorts designed to motivate writers to write without stopping– by threatening death.
  10. THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS!  On the penultimate fact of any series of facts I do for an award, I grow bored and blank.  [Destiny.  I know it’s fate.  Blech, sorry, misspoke– extremely sorry!  Fate is your sister, I shouldn’t have forgotten.  …What do you mean she’s here?  FATE!  Do NOT sneak up on me like that!]
  11. And this is the last fact.  Does that count?  No?  Okay; I like humor.  That’s a fact so it works.  [Death, would you mind cackling for me?  My throat is a bit sore.]

Next comes the interrogation.  [Death, you can do the honors.  Without using the rack.  Or the screw.  No hot torture implements.  No cold implements either.  JUST ASK THE QUESTIONS!  …Ooh, nice memo book.  I love the design.]

  1. Which would you rather put on an iPad: all the books you own or all the music you own?
    All the music, because I’d much rather read all my books in hard copies.  Music has to be electronic unless it’s live, so if I had to use an electronic device for something I’d use it for something that was primarily electronic.  It’s so logical I feel like Spock.
  2. What is your favorite city?
    I have no idea.  Next.  [No, Death, you can’t kill me if I don’t answer.]
  3. What is your favorite blog name (not your own)?
    That of Further Up and Further In.  Pure sentimental value– the feelings of the last chapter of the final book of the Chronicles of Narnia are always depressing and lovely at the same time.  [Death, you agree?  I don’t blame you.]
  4. What TV show(s) do you hate and why?
    How can I hate something I don’t watch?  I don’t watch TV shows that I don’t like.
  5. What is your favorite cheese?
    What?  I think the interrogator is a little bored.  [True or false, Death?  Whoops, watch the scythe.]  Cheddar, probably.
  6. What is your favorite sandwich?
    What?  [Death, you’ve had your fun.  Stop it.  Please?  Destiny, can you do something?]  Roast beef.  Maybe.  I don’t eat many sandwiches.
  7. What is your favorite soda?
    What?  [Fate, you do something.  No?  Death, please!]  Root beer.  [Destiny, do not tell me that I’m to be an alcoholic at this rate.  DESTINY!  What did I just say?]
  8. Have you ever read any of Bill Bryson’s awesome writing and if not, why not?
    I’ve never heard the name except in context of the interrogator’s favorite authors, and that’s why I haven’t read anything of his.
  9. What is the first word that comes to mind when you think of Musings From Neville’s Navel?
    Average blog name.  [Synonym of “thoughts” or “words”] of/from [certain name].  Sorry, but that’s the obvious thing for a blog name.  The other formulas would be [name] + [synonyms for thoughts or words].  Or just the [certain name] from the former formula.  I could name names, but I won’t.  I much prefer sort of abstract phrases as a name, not something that describes the blog at all.
  10. Which do you like more: dictionaries or thesauruses?
    Thesauruses.  Just because.
  11. How do you feel about being asked all these questions, anyway?
    What are you, a psychiatrist?  I feel rather bummed.  This dude in a highly unflattering black robe is waving a scythe in my face, which I’m pretty sure is just plastic, but is still pretty freaky.  And two sisters are standing behind him in similarly unfashionable togs, scowling at me.  I may have insulted one of them.  Or both.  Well, serves them right; their noses are too triangular.

Before I nominate some people, I have to make up some questions.  [Got your memo pad ready, Death?  Ooh, I like that design.]

  1. What is the best book you ever read containing the concept of time travel, and what made it so good?  Was it the time travel or something else?
  2. What is the longest and strangest sounding word you can think of on short notice?  (No Googling.)
  3. What are three expressions you commonly use that originated in Shakespeare?  (You can Google for this if you need to, I suppose.)
  4. What is your opinion on the theory that people brush their teeth in opposite rotation directions based on the hemisphere they live in?  (Bonus points if you reference the Coriolis Effect– even more if you actually know what it is.)
  5. What type of humor do you appreciate most in fiction: humorous dialogue, funny descriptions, funny character histories, satire in the narrative, etc….?  Add your own if you wish.
  6. What’s your favorite key on the keyboard?  (You know you have one.  Don’t even try to bluff it out.)
  7. What’s your least favorite key on the keyboard?  [Insert above parenthetical here.]
  8. If you could shoot one historical personage, who?  (Excluding anyone who has been assassinated already.  Duh.)
  9. If you could shoot one fictional character– even to spite someone who will shoot them later in the book, and whether or not there is a weapon that can actually shoot in their time period or setting– who?  (No restrictions, except that you cannot describe the death in all its gory detail.)
  10. As we reach the penultimate question, what springs into your head when you hear “penultimate”?  The ultimate pen, translated badly from French (where, as everyone knows, all the words are in the wrong order)?  A penalty mate– a friend who is only stuck with you when you do something really really bad?  Something else?  (The only restriction is that you cannot say the actual definition of the word.)
  11. If you could capture a single creature out of any myth created by man at least a hundred years before the present year, which would you choose?  (Do not go into detail.  I’m not giving writing prompts; I’m giving questions for you to answer.  If you want to take these as writing prompts, do so by all means– I will claim royalties.  Oh, and do not say you’d catch a unicorn.  Just don’t.)

There are the questions.  Feel free to take out the parentheses, or to leave them in.

All right, Death, don’t kill me yet.  I’ve still got to nominate a few people for you guys to go bug.  Ready?  Here are eleven of ’em.  Don’t kill them too soon.

Books Are Better Than Diamonds.

Further Up and Further In.

Notebook Sisters.

The Leaning Tower of Plot.

What Updates?

And I can’t believe that I can only nominate five, but there is no blog I follow that I haven’t already nominated for this award, or who has not gotten it from another source.  There are so many more I would have done, but they’ve already gotten it.  Very very sorry.  I came two thousand words to nominate five people.

Death is so going to kill me.

Leave a comment


  1. Don’t you ever wonder where Death finds those memo pads?

    Poor you. Destiny and Fate and that whole triangular nose issue might end a bit nastily for you. Thankfully I have yet to insult either of them…I’m not sure what horrors they would ensue for me.

  2. I HAVE ESCAPED! *dances about*

  3. Ahhh, thanks for the award. 😀 (I do beg many pardons as I am reluctant to participate in blog awards. I do not readily submit myself to torturous activities. But thank you nonetheless; I do appreciate it.)

    I’m also blushing over here. I happen to like my blog title, too. 😛

    • Ah, phooey. I wish you would answer the questions, though.
      It’s a good title.

      • Hmmm. Well, perhaps. If it isn’t too much risk to my health. O.o 😛

        (Thanks again. 😀 )

      • I’d love it if you would. Thank you.

      • But in all seriousness, I’ll try to do it in my spare time, even if I just put them in a comment in this post. So yeah, you’re welcome.

    • I feel like now is the time for me to demand that you bribe me… but I won’t.

      • Argh, wow, this is embarrassing… the two comments are out of order. The bribe one was supposed to come first. Sorry about that. 😛

      • It did come first… and it was funny. Though I do wonder why you bothered to comment thrice in a row.

  4. Oh, cool, thanks. Now I have something to distract me from vaccinations and being behind and stuff. 😀

    The last line made me laugh. If he gives you any choice in the matter, remember the answer is ‘old age.’

    • Yes, indeed, blog awards are just empty-headed posts to fill blogs with until you can find time and topics that people want to hear about.
      I’d actually rather die by penguin than by bodily failure. As long as it isn’t that scythe.

      • If you’ve read Terry Pratchett, then you know it’s always, sooner or later, the scythe. Otherwise you’re just sort of stuck with your body. When he’s late the ghosts have to find an insubstantial deck of cards and play solitaire among the mourners, I suppose.

      • Erm, I haven’t read him, so I’ll stick with the penguins.

      • Penguins are good, too. I must warn you, though; from my experience with penguins, it may be a smelly end.

      • Indeed it might– but I plan to escape from that death into an oblivion from which I can influence the course of humanity. So smelliness won’t be an issue for long.

      • Indeed. If your course is successful, then I believe you could eradicate smelliness for good.

      • Just don’t tell Death, okay? Until I’m in the netherworld I don’t want him near me with that scythe.

      • Duly noted. Scythes are bad.

      • Especially the kind from Soul Cleavers Limited. “For over nine centuries we’ve made our scythes sharp and too shiny for condemned souls to look at! Stop in today!” That’s what their commercial says. I’m not kidding; they need a new marketing division.

      • Death might think otherwise. Presumably he’d think that the condemned souls not liking the commercial was a bonus, rather than just a hokey yet strangely terrifying advertising scheme.

      • Well, mortals aren’t supposed to be watching Death Channel, so they don’t see the commercials most of the time. Even most immortals involved with condemning the deceased are bored by that thing by now… Still, the Soul Cleaver scythes are the best for the job.

      • See? They can handle having less than stellar marketing. It’s sort of like Stradivarius. He never had a marketing department, and everyone knows his violins were the best anyway.

      • Actually, no one immortal can have less than stellar marketing; even the meanest companies begin with stellar marketing. The stars absolutely love making all those shapes, even though no one looks. Did you know that the same ad has been showing for centuries now advertising the Big Dipper, which hasn’t been in production since the Bigger Pitcher came along and destroyed it? And the Little Dipper– what a joke! They didn’t even sell five of those things, and yet the ad hasn’t been changed yet. Someone ought to climb up and tell the stars sometime…

      • I vote someone else do it. The stars and I have had… Issues as of late. Something about insulting them by wishing on an airplane. They hold grudges, they do.

      • Oof. You didn’t notice the red and green lights on the wings? Tough luck for you– you’re probably in for something pretty bad. Your demise is already written in the stars…

      • It was flying too high to see those, and my eyesight is about four points from ‘legally blind’. So. And I’ve been doomed so many times that it’s getting a bit passe. Foaly is still biding his time, too.

      • {Rule number one of fantastic comment role plays: do not mention other role plays during said role play.}
        Nevertheless, getting your death written in the stars has got to count for something. Put it on your resume at the very least.

      • {Duly noted.}
        “I, joining the ranks of Romeo and Juliet, along with numerous other tragic heroes and heroines, have had my awful fate ordained by the stars. I am therefore obviously a noble heroine myself, fated to die for my cause. This shows that I will most definitely be an enthusiastic and determined seller of used books for your store.”

      • Admirable soliloquy, my dear; perhaps I can bribe the stars into letting you live long enough to deliver it for all the theatre to hear when Act V arrives. Until then, just sit tight and avoid the scythe.

      • Working on it. Death really is a bit overenthusiastic with that thing, isn’t he/she? I keep having to duck.

      • I know… I keep having to hold up ducks. He chops through them and thinks me dead, then I tap him on the shoulder. It’s hilarious to see how far he jumps out of his robe.

      • He… he’s not too bright, is he? *holds out a duck*

      • *wipes his face* They do splatter, though, which is rather unfortunate. But no, he isn’t too bright. He’s Death, after all; he’s rather dark.

      • Badump tish. I’m going to go move to a place more easily wiped down. He’s really rather unhappy with me now.

      • Linoleum. The red washes off so much more easily.

      • That’s what I was leaning towards. To a linoleum room!

      • Perhaps Death and his stellar allies will leave you alone long enough for you to redecorate.

      • What, you don’t have a room made out of linoleum already? Mine’s just next to the padded room.

      • My apologies, I misheard you. I thought that you didn’t have a linoleum room yet– I do, of course. Death just doesn’t like to come in.

      • You’d think the black would hide the stains. But no, he’s afraid for the cowl, so he’s just sort of glaring at me from the door.

      • Death is trying to make a show of being underfunded. He’s paid a hefty amount, but he wants more. Pretty soon he’ll go on strike, but right now he’s sticking to just never changing his robe.

      • It’s probably a good thing that he’s just bones, then. Otherwise it might become unpleasant. The very least a condemned soul should be able to expect is a neat and tidy Grim Reaper.

      • Actually– and don’t tell anyone about this– Death recently paid a hefty amount for plastic surgery. Unfortunately he didn’t like the way it looked with the skull thing he had going before that, and now he wears the hood.

      • Poor thing. Wait, does it make me a traitor to human kind to pity Death?

      • As long as you can prove conclusively in a fair trial that you’re actually immortal.

      • That shouldn’t be difficult. I am at this point at least thrice-doomed, and I’m still standing, albeit in a linoleum room holding out ducks for Death. That should definitely be considered conclusive evidence.

      • I’m warning you, if anyone finds out they’ll sue. Immortals are picky about who is one of them and who isn’t.

      • I’ve also survived electrocution, a fatal disease, and a fifteen-foot fall. That totally counts.

      • Being hard to kill is not immortality. Rasputin was hard to kill. Was he immortal? No.

      • Has no one told you about that? Hmm. I’ll talk to Headquarters and see if I can bump your level on the need-to-know list.

      • I am Headquarters. You know that disembodied voice that enters the secure room through the speaker on the table, and then disappears with a flatulent noise? That’s me. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet. In short, there is nothing I don’t know that Headquarters knows.

      • Oh. Huh. Could you do something about that noise? It’s a bit irritating.

        You know, in light of this new information, I’m a little surprised I’m still allowed to wander around. Am I just some sort of curse handy-mop? Because that would make a lot of sense.

      • It’s meant to show you all who exactly is in control… Me, that is.

        Darn it… she’s figured us out. Yeah, you’re quite effective at picking up every doom that could be spent on the rest of us here at Headquarters. If the stars and Death and the Committed Committee of Chameleons ever figured out that they were cursing the same person, well… You’d die a lot quicker, let’s just say that.

      • My life makes so much more sense now!

        Also, in light of this new development, I want triple hazard pay. since I’m basically employed to not die regularly to prevent the same from happening to the rest of the organization.

      • I’m sorry, but our financial state is in no place to grant your request. We’ll give you a bonus if you last the month. Maybe.

      • Nine days. I can do this!

      • No, a month from today. And that includes missions we send you on including time travel. So for you it could be millennia.

      • If I can keep the time machine, then I’m good with that.

      • No. That’s property of the Headquarters.

      • Bah. Remind me what perks I /do/ get on this job? Because I’m suddenly feeling less than motivated.

      • Er… Let me consult my… consultants and I’ll get back to you… Perks, perks, perks… Ah, index. Does perks start with B or P? Berks… Nope, nothing here. Perks… Nope, nothing. I think you’re out of luck, or perhaps you just picked the wrong word.

      • Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Benefits? Rewards? Compensation? Recompensation?

      • Ah, no, none of that here. Face it, you’re doomed.

      • … Hmph. At least that’s not a new sensation for me. Downright familiar, in fact.

      • Deja vu all over again…

  5. “This dude in a highly unflattering black robe is waving a scythe in my face, which I’m pretty sure is just plastic, but is still pretty freaky. And two sisters are standing behind him in similarly unfashionable togs, scowling at me.”

    O_O Liam is in Potterworld! Smite Voldy/Bellatrix/Narcissa, Liam! C’mon! *cheers him on*

    • Death is so much more imposing than Voldy ever will be. Death has a nose. So there. [Death. I know I just complimented you, but that does not mean you can wave a scythe in my face. Just stop. Yes, Fate, I believe she likened you to a Harry Potter character. Sure, you have my permission to weave her into a situation where she would be assassinated; I don’t mind. Destiny, do you mind helping your sister now? I’m glad that’s settled.]
      Nev, you are so going to regret that.

      • True. *compliments Death on his/her nose*

        But don’t forget, Liam. I am really a Death Eater. *nods* My Camp NaNo profile says so.

      • [Yes, Death, she said she wants to eat you. Sure, you can go kill her. But wait until Destiny and Fate get her entwined in some adventure first; I want to see how this turns out.]

  6. *pouts* I think the Death Eaters shall infiltrate JKR’s house as our next mission.

    • *darkly* If you have a mission… Death is set on killing you. I’d say dead set, but that’s redundant.

      • Actually, change that. We’re gonna kidnap Christopher Paolini. *evil grin*

      • Ooh, okay, I’ll help. We’ll tie him to a chair and convince him that he isn’t George R. R. Martin and won’t be able to keep those fans that are left to him if he takes five years to write another book. [Sure, Death, you can kill him after that. Just make sure his publisher can find him in the Underworld. …No can do? Okay, then, don’t kill him.]

  7. *claps hands together and smiles* Lovely. Would you care to be the one who threatens him, or shall I do it?

    • I can do it if you wish… Actually, I’ve got a better idea. We’ll collaborate on the questions and Death can write it down and interrogate. [Got your memo pad? …I absolutely adore that pattern.]

      • Splendid! Shall we ask him how he turned into such a pompous prattling git?

      • *writes it down* That might be a bit harsh– we don’t want it to seem like we don’t like his work. He’ll open up sooner if he thinks we’re fans. Fans with a large, black-robed, scythe-wielding King of Morbid.

  8. Astrid

     /  August 21, 2012

    I love Terry Pratchett, there were some nice quotes in there! Was it actually on purpose?

  9. Ooh, yay! Thanks for nominating me!

  10. Can we be fans who are mad that he writes so slowly and then beat him?

    • Once he finishes explaining that beating him up won’t help his process, he’ll realize that we aren’t telling the truth. We must have a better alibi than that… How about tax collectors?

  11. Especially when you own, like, a bunch of mountains and this whole land and that stupid elf place. *nods8


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