Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Climbing that hill

I am trying to keep in mind that I dedicated myself to putting at least something on my blog every day I have a chance.  Today's entry might not be much, but it is something.  And something is better than nothing.

Story idea:

The Grey Monastery:

My descent into madness was not a precipitous fall.  Rather, it was a gentle slope, one mild footfall at a time leading me downward into Itzalak Haranean towards the Grey Monastery.

When my journey began, I was not shut away in Piscatawnaway State Mental Hospital. I was a tenured professor of Archaeology. I had a fulfilling, if somewhat dry, academic career studying ancient Basque culture and teaching bored undergraduates about Pompeii and Troy.

For years I had been attempting to get grant money for a dig in the Pyrenees Mountains. I had been researching various sources about some of the isolated mountain communities that existed on the higher slopes untouched since Roman times. Unfortunately, my efforts had run straight into the Wall Street collapse and the Great Depression. Suddenly even tenured professors were looking over their shoulders nervously. While Farwater was a well-thought of private college, the local burghers began to look for cheaper venues to educate their children at. Grant money for things as esoteric and unimportant as tracing the Basque culture's migration path through the Pyrenees just wasn't there.

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