Power of the Digital Pen

The Power of the Digital Pen

How much can you write in a year? I decided to find out. This is how I arrived at my conclusion. For 

those who are not mathematically minded just skip to the bottom.

There are 365 days in a year. I subtracted 65 days (36.5%) for holidays, sick days etc.

I worked out a average typing speed of 25 words per minute and subtracted 25% for thought and 

word corrections. That leaves 18.75 word per minute.

If you typed for four hours every day you would get 1,200 hours of work done in a year. 

18.75 word per minute times 60 =1,125 words per hour. Bear with me.

1,200 hours per year times words per hour 1,125 =1,250,000 words typed in a year. But I didn't stop there.

My softcover edition of The Fellowship of the Ring, first book in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, is 8" tall and 5" long. I roughly estimated that there are 12.6 words per line in my book and 37.75 lines in an average page. There are 378 pages in my book not counting covers and introduction. Those pages all together are 1.5" thick. 

So 12.6 words per line times 37.75 lines per page equals the words per page, so 12.6 (37.75) =475.65 words per page. 

Next lets take our words per year and see how many pages we can type. 1,350,000 divides into 475.65 to equal 2838.221381 pages per year. And 2838.221381 divided by 378 pages that comprise the Fellowship of the Ring equals 7.508522172 or about seven and a half volumes every year (7.5) 

The thickness of the book, 1.5" times number of volumes, 7.5 equals 11.25" of writing. Given books 8" high and 5"wide one could turn out nearly a foot of books every year.

If one wrote poetry one could probably get even more.

That is 8" times 5" times 11.25" =450^3 cubic inches of literature.

As always I enjoy your comments so please tell me what you think. And thanks to my mother for the typing speed average.

1800 Union Jack

This is it, the long in coming alternate reality Avengers. I hope you enjoy it and as always I 

appreciate all comments. I am thinking of making a separate page for Marvel and DC one-

shots.


The dockside tavern was not a pleasant place. Unwashed sailors hobbled and staggered across the
floor, stepping in piles of leftovers from the tables. Two one-legged sailors at the bar turned to stare
at the stranger as he entered. His overcoat, fresh from the tailor and a beaverskin top hat marked him
as a gentleman, someone of importance, perhaps a captain hiring hands.

The gentleman scanned the dimly lit room for a moment and walked to the bar, boots thudding on the rotting boards. He leaned over the bar and called to the barkeeper. "Wine." Then he turned to look at the man beside him. The man was a strapping figure, finely tuned muscles bulging from under a faded blue jacket. His face was cleanshaven and two piercing blue eyes gleamed from under a tricorner hat. He noticed the gentleman's gaze and extended his hand. "I am captain Steven Rogers, what can I do for you?" The gentleman showed a soft smile. "I am Philip, an employee of a organization which desires your services. Steven frowned. He was not used to flowery words. "What king do you serve?" Philip drank his wine and glanced searchingly around the tavern. "We serve no king, but are nominally under George the third, king of England." Steve swallowed a draft of ale. "The king does not want the services of a Yankee privateer. If it was known I was here in England I am sure that redcoats would be swarming this place." He smiled a little. "You didn't bring any redcoats did you?" Philip looked Steve straight in the eye. "You are a great patriot captain Rogers. You carried out several daring smuggling runs to bring vital supplies to the colonies during their struggle for independance. We need a man who believes in freedom."

Steve furrowed his brow in thought. He took another swallow of the potent ale. He had already had three mugs of the potent brew, enough to make a grown man staggering drunk, but it didn't seem to affect him. Finally he spoke. "Who are your employers? I like to know who I am working for." Philip nodded. "We call ourselves Aegis. Imagine a large company, like the East India Trading Company, dedicated to stopping enemies who threaten the peace of the entire world. We will pay you well and you can walk away at any time, there is no contract to sign." Steve straightened and held out his hand. Philip gripped it and shook it warmly, but the smile on his face was fixed. "Don't look around. There is a man dressed in black on the stairs, he is very dangerous. We need to leave now, slowly."
Captain Rogers turned, slid a silver piece to the tavern keeper and strode purposefully towards the door. He detected a sound above the belching of sailors, the sound of the man in black flying through the air. Steve ducked. His assailant went over his back and crashed into a table, spraying ale everywhere. As he staggered to his feet Steve got a better look at him. A hood covered his face. His shirt was emblazoned with a white skull and crossbones. He was obviously in top physical condition. The man in black lunged at Steve, his fist flicked out and hit the captain. Steve crashed into a wooden post and threw a return punch with practiced ease. His foe evaded the blow with equal skill and rained punches on Steve, who protected his face with his arms. Philip called out in his quiet voice. "Crossbones, but your hands over your head and surrender." The man in black turned and saw Philip holding a double-barreled pistol at his head.

Crossbones leaped behind a post. The pistol discharged a moment later, clipping the post and spraying wood chips over the staring spectators. Crossbones leaped over a table and through the door of the tavern, Philip's second shot whistling past his ear. Steve grabbed a shield from the bar where he had left it. It was a simple round affair, made of metal with leather handles.
Steve slipped it on his arm and exited the tavern. As his eyes adjusted to the dark dock he saw Crossbones and two sailors aiming at him with blunderbusses, nasty close range guns loaded with metal fragments. Steve threw himself into a crouch with his shield covering him. A storm of shrapnel hissed towards him and bounced off of the shield. Philip dove back into the tavern as the sailors grabbed muskets from the ground and cocked them. Steve saw the new threat and stayed down. Crossbones aimed at the doorway where Philip had gone and signaled his men. The sailors began circling around behind Steve. Philip knew that Crossbones would shoot him if he showed himself, but he had to help Steve, he braced himself and cocked his backup pistol.

From the roof of the tavern a wild figure leaped into space and blasted one of Crossbones men in midair with a pistol. The figure hit the ground running and knocked out the other goon with one punch. As Crossbones aimed at this unexpected threat captain Rogers stood and threw his shield. The whirling arc of metal broke Crossbones musket in half. The villain turned and sprinted down a quay towards a waiting boat. Steve started after him but a cry brought him to a halt. Redcoats, british soldiers dressed in red uniforms, streamed onto the dockside and aimed their muskets at Steve. The figure who had rescued him stepped forward. In the dim lamplight Steve saw that it was a man dressed in pantaloons, boots and a thick jerkin. He also wore a cape emblazoned with a double cross. The man stepped forwards, his rugged face breaking into a smile as he adressed the soldiers. "Hey boys, uncock those muskets, you are letting that villain Crossbones get away." Aparently the soldiers knew this man. They slowly uncocked thier pieces and hurried along the quay after Crossbones receding ship. The man held out his hand to Steve, who warmly shook it. "You must be Cap'n Rogers, the Yankee privateer. It's a good thing mister Coulson had me stand by as backup." Philip stepped forwards. "Well done agent." He turned to Rogers. "This is Jack. He is quite a hero in England. He is working with Aegis for a while as security detail." Steve attached his shield to his back by a leather cord. "So when do I start work?" Coulson gestured towards a sloop moored to the quay where blinking lanterns winked. "My men are loading your ship with provisions. We can sail with the morning tide."

Cops and Robbers

Cops and Robbers

This is a short story that I wrote up over a couple of days. I will try to write my Marvel fanfic story soon. Please comment below. I enjoy your input.

"All right gentlemen, listen up." Roared the police Sergeant. "We have four targets." He activated a projector mounted on his jeep, throwing the image of a dirty mugshot onto the arena wall. Michael glanced around at the towering concrete walls that boxed them into a large gravel yard. His Sergeant barked at him. "Mike, I am trying to keep you alive out there and you are taking in the scene? Don't blame me if you are roadkill in ten minutes." He crunched over to the mugshot. "This is Madison. He is a small-time thief from Miami with a specialty in convenience stores. He has used handguns but didn't resist arrest." He pressed a remote and the mugshot changed. "This is Samuel. Don't let those spectacles fool you, he is a serial killer with three victims to his name. Likes shotguns and knives." Mike's mind was racing. Would Samuel have a shotgun? It would cost a few thousand bucks to get one into the arena. Sam probably would not be able to afford it, unless he had some high-ranking Syndicate friends.

The Sergeant changed the image again. "Say hello to Weaver." The four police officers smiled despite the tension. Weaver had a hard face. Dirt was plastered over his bald head. "Getaway driver is his bit. We ran him to ground in a Nevada corn field. He knows where his gang's stuff is hidden, so he may get some help." The projector gave a final click. Billy, Mike's partner, sucked in his breath sharply. The mugshot showed a malignant face. Wide, rolling eyes leered above a purple mohawk. The Sergeant frowned. "This is Crazy Eyes Harry. He is a hardcore gangster from Detroit. This rat escaped the Justice Arena two years ago after stabbing one officer and shooting another. He is a mascot of the Syndicate and very popular with the wierdo's. Watch yourself."

The projector darkened. The Sergeant stepped forward and shook the hand of each officer. He stopped at the team leader, Officer Jasper. "You be careful our there kid. Watch Samuel and Harry. Din't forget, every crook you capture means $20,000 for our department and everyone gets time off. But If they get to the Endzone they go free, with all their crimes pardoned. And always remember that you take care of your men, that is what is most important.
Michael stretched and began pacing back and forth as the Sergeant gave some final advice. "Don't freeze up. Our Department is counting on you bringing these men to justice. There are no rules in the Justice Arena. If one of those goons looks at you wrong you shoot him. Watch your back and protect your buddies." The steel door at the end of the yard slammed open, scattering rust chips. Mike sprinted forward and burst out into the Justice Arena.

Before him stretched a two-mile long expanse of city blocks. But it was a lifeless city. The buildings were made of prefabricated brick walls and empty window spaces. But Michael had no time to take in the sight. He glanced at the blue square directly before him. There lay the equipment that the force had bought for his squad, it wasn't much. Four batons, a bulletproof vest and two service revolvers lay cluttered around an old and battered police cruiser.
Mike looked up. Three hundred yards away the four criminals stood by a battered van, their orange prison suits in sharp contrast with the drab brick walls. All but one of them piled into the van. Mike sighed. A few days ago two officers had been shot as they tried to grab their equipment by a kid with a hunting rifle. All four cops had been killed eventually. The crooks had sauntered across the endzone like royalty. That wasn't going to happen this time.

Jasper dashed to the police cruiser and started the engine. "Michael, get a revolver." He yelled. "Billy and Ahmed. Grab the nightsticks and pile in the back." Mike wanted to protest, he wanted Billy to have the revolver. But he was disciplined, the Academy had taught him that much. They told every student about the 32nd match of the Justice Arena, where two police  officers shot each other in an argument over equipment. Ever since that day insubordination had been called a "32."
Mike buckled into his seat and checked the revolver chamber. Those cheapos at the Department hadn't even given him six rounds, only five. And bullets only cost $5 each. Jasper stepped on the gas. The engine groaned, misfired and sputtered to life. The cruiser closed in on the criminal who had been abandoned by the van. Mike saw that it was Madison. He stood dumbly in the road like a deer caught in headlights. Jasper barely slowed down. "Ahmed, hop out and take care of him." Ahmed nodded and opened the door. He was really well-built african dude, we all liked him. Madison barely twitched as Ahmed ran up to him, nightstick poised, he appeared to be unarmed. My partner stopped short. "You do realize you will be executed if we capture you, man, right."? Madison hung his head, his knees were shaking uncontrollably. "I got nothing man. Just do it quick will ya?" Ahmed hit him on the side of the neck expertly, an instant knockout. Madison crumpled to the ground.
We sped onwards after the van. Our cruiser was an old '87 model, barely running. The van was getting farther and farther away. Billy pointed ahead. "Mike, one of those jailbirds piled out of the van by that alley. I'm goin' after him." Jasper looked back at us through the steel grating. "No, Mike goes." Mike frowned. "Jasper, just because I have a gun..." Jasper cut him off. "Are you committing a 32 Mike?" Mike cocked his gun. "No sir."

Michael leaped out and dashed headlong into the alley. The cruiser's backfiring motor faded away and a strange silence descended. He trotted over the asphalt, his own heavy breathing pounding in his ears. Mike turned a corner and stopped cold. Not five yards away Samuel was trapped in a dead end. Mike stepped forward slowly. "Put your hands on your head and kneel." Samuel started babbling. "I can't, I can't. Please let me go. I just want to live." Mike took another step forward, revolver raised. He looked into Sam's eyes, frightened rabbit's eyes darting about behind fragile spectacles. He saw the sweat trickling down his neck. Samuel noticed his glance. "Please, I just want to live, like you. What did they say I did? They are lying. I never hurt anybody. Will you let me go? I just want to live." For a moment Mike felt torn. Then he saw Samuel looking at something beyond him. He risked a quick look. Thirty feet up hovered a television drone, its camera capturing every moment of this scene. His friends in the force, millions of people glued to their virtual television sets, and his wife, she wouldn't let the kids watch this televised murder, but she would be there. Worrying about him.
Then Michael felt anger, a deep fury welling up inside him. They were playing with him. None of this was real. These criminals had already been caught, they were guilty. But just because the rich kids wanted to make a buck, just because everyone in this cash-soaked, hyper-capitalist world wanted a real cops-and-robbers show, he was here in a fake city, risking his life and his family's happiness. Pointing a gun at a unarmed man in glasses.

Michael gritted his teeth. He was torn between anger at his manipulators and a reluctance to kill. Samuel moved towards him, shaking and weeping. Something about this set alarm bells ringing in Mike's mind. He gripped his gun tighter. "Stand back. Get down on the ground." Samuel kept coming, less than a yard away now. One hand raised to ward off a blow. Mike saw the other hand slide behind his back. He aimed at Samuel's heart and fired.Samuel twisted around and slammed into the asphalt. Michael saw the butcher knife that he had hidden behind him, tied to his belt. Another second and that helpless little man would have killed him. Michael sank to his knees. He wanted to hide somewhere, away from the camera drone, from the world and from himself. The sound of a automatic weapon spraying bullets came to him. He forced himself to move, rose to his feet. His legs stopped shaking. Perhaps this was just a cruel game. But his squad was in danger and they needed him.

Michael emerged onto the street. It seemed like he had been in that alley for days, but it had been barely sixty seconds. Ahmed was dragging the unconscious Madison back to the blue zone. Three hundred yards ahead the police cruiser was piled into the van. Mike jogged towards the wreck.
 Beside the police cruiser he found Jasper kneeling beside Billy. His partner had been shot in the chest. Jasper was trying to stop the blood from flowing out. "It was Crazy Harry, Mike. That psycho has a assault rifle and a belt of hand grenades. He waited around a turn and shot Billy as came around. My gun is empty. Weaver is high tailing it for the endzone." Michael saw him from the street, a small figure receding into the distance. "Samuel is dead." Jasper nodded. "Well that is good news. Mike. I need you to go after Harry." Mike turned red. "No sir. I can't. I just about let Samuel kill me. I'll stay with Billy, he's my partn . . ." Jasper spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't do this to me. I am your superior. A chief's first duty is to him men. You think I don't want to hunt Harry down? I must stay here and keep Billy alive until the round ends and medical help arrives. Take my bulletproof vest. Find Harry and kill him. I will send Ahmed after Weaver once he gets back." Mike wordlessly buckled on the vest. Jasper caught his sleeve as he turned away. "Mike. I'm counting on you. Be careful out there." Michael nodded and entered the alley beside the van.

Even though it was midday in the Arena a forbidding gloom hung over this garbage bin-riddled place, shaded by the brick non-buildings. Mike walked forward, gun drawn. From every shadow and window Crazy Harry's insane eyes seemed to leer out at him. He felt his legs start to shake again and forced himself to keep moving. A garbage bin lid creaked behind him and he spun around. Nothing was there. Then he heard a chuckle of laughter further down the alley. Harry was not running for the endzone. He was going to hide and kill cops.

Michael stopped, he detected a whirring sound. He turned slowly and saw the camera drone filming him. It was giving away his position. If it had not been strictly against the rules he would have shot it down. A small object sailed through the air and clanked against the wall beside him. It was a steel ball covered in serrated fragments. It was a grenade. Mike hurled himself away and rolled behind a garbage bin. An explosion shattered the brick around him. Dozens of red-hot splinters zinged through the air, bouncing off the metal bin. Mike was shaken but not hurt.
He rose to his feet and ran through the cloud of brick dust. On the other side he found that the alley turned a corner. Slowly he turned the corner and found that the alley ended against the fifty-foot concrete wall that surrounded the arena. His ears, still ringing from the explosion, did not hear the quiet tread of sneakers as Harry moved towards him. He turned to retrace his steps just as another grenade rolled towards him. There was nowhere to run. Mike ran forward, grabbed the grenade and threw it through a window. Brick dust billowed out and filled the alley. Mike vaulted through a ground-level window into a hollow house. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The brick dust parched his throat. His vision was blurry. If he did not get water soon he would faint.

Michael staggered through the house and out another window. His feet struck something that clanked and he looked down. Two grenade pins. Harry had been here. Mike reeled and leaned against the wall. He rallied his strength and headed down the alley. He turned a corner and saw, out of the corner of his eye, a sneaker-clad foot go around a bend in the street. Michael raced down the street and around the corner with reckless speed, determined not to let his tormentor get away. Just in time to see the sneakers disappear again. He came around another corner and saw Crazy Harry dart behind the next corner before he could get off a shot.

Mike pulled up short, his tired mind racing. Harry was not fleeing from him, he was leading him somewhere where Mike would be helpless. Then another grenade rolled around the corner. If Mike had kept running it would have been right behind his legs. He leapt into another window space as an explosion filled the alley. Mike's legs were wobbling again, but from fatigue. He forced them to obey him, to carry him across the building and out another window. He got to his feet and saw his target slip across a street and into another alley. Mike took several ragged breaths and entered the alley.Harry was waiting at the end of the alley, his assault rifle aimed at Officer Jasper.

 Instinctively Mike raised his gun. Harry moved behind Jasper, denying Mike a shot at his cranial vault. Jasper stood very still. "Mike, listen. There are only three ways this ends. One is Harry leaves with me as hostage and gets away, and I won't let that happen. Second is Harry shoots me and you kill him. Third is Harry shoots you and I kill him." Mike's hand shook, his gun wobbling off aim despite all his training. "How is Billy?" Jasper swallowed. "He's dead." Behind him Crazy Harry cackled with glee. "You dumb cops, we should be hunting you down instead of the other way around. Some day its gonna be like that, buncha cops dumped in the Arena and we get to hunt 'em. My bosses are gonna give us real good stuff. Machine guns, rocket launchers. You wanna know why you always lose? You suckers always stick together, while guys like me? We look out for number one and got nothin' to lose."

Jasper gritted his teeth as Harry twisted his arm behind his back and began dragging him away. "Mike, you know what you have to do." Mike shook his head, his voice cracked in his dust-dry throat. "No sir, don't do this." His commanding officer walked backwards slowly. "You have a family Mike, you have kids who depend on you. Now do your duty." Jasper turned like a snake and belted Harry over the head, the same moment as rifle fired five bullets into his chest. As Jasper fell backwards Mike fired, he hit Harry in the arm. As the criminal spun around he shot him in the back. Harry fell down dead. Mike kept firing until all five bullets were gone. Then he threw down his gun and knelt by his officer. There would be no last words. Officer Jasper was dead.

Police Officer Michael Waller sat silently in the medical helicopter beside the bodies of two criminals and two policemen. Weaver had been caught and would be executed along with Madison. Michael gazed out impassively at the sprawling metropolis of New Washington, the paramedic handed him headphones, yelling over the engine that it was a call for him. He put on the set and the world went silent. Then he heard a voice, the voice of his wife. "Mike, are you all right?" Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Sherry, I'm here." He coughed and took a sip of water. "Don't worry baby. I'm coming home. I love you so much."

At the Federal Networking Association's main offices on Court street A leering leech named Keelman leaned back in his chair, dictating a memo for his secretary. "Michael has the right qualities for a Arena officer. Savagery, skill and pent-up emotion. We will find a way to retain him for mid- to high level events. Begin researching friends and family connections." He smiled like a tiger baring its fangs. "He may need some persuading."

So you want my job: Imperial Stormtrooper

How is the food?

We are issued the standard imperial ration of dried bantha, vitamin wafers and spiced dewback for desert. It gets pretty boring pretty fast. Officers get special rations and sometimes we can buy local food if we're posted planetside...but that's against regulations.
What are your hours?
Every tour lasts 360 solar rotations. We spend ten hours on duty and fourteen in the barracks on average. If we are deployed on a mission we may be in uniform for days at a time. Sometimes we just sit in our barracks, playing hologames or training in simulations.

Do you get time off?

If we are deployed on a habitable planet we can get one-rotation passes. Its great to take a break from the heavy uniforms and explore, though imperial insurance doesn't cover injuries sustained during leave.

What will you do if the Empire falls?

That's a very hard question. Our leaders say it's never going to fall, gonna go on for ten thousand years like the Republic. But things aren't looking to good. I wouldn't want to go back to selling vaporators and generators. If the Empire did fall I would try and liberate as many credits as I could and buy me a nice bunch of planet somewhere. Perhaps have a private sailbarge. Try racing speeders. But I'll probably end up as a mercenary or security guard. The Hutt cartel always needs somebody to keep the locals in line.

Why are Stormtroopers inaccurate?

Don't get me wrong, the E-11 blaster carbine is a reliable weapon, but its very hard to aim and the sights could be better. Our regulation helmets are hard to see out of because of the double-thick lenses. Also, we are trained to fire from the hip at close range. Military tactics say the AT-ST's will get everything at long range so we don't have to be that accurate. But the E-11 also uses low-grade Tibanna gas as ammunition. This stuff will burn right through a wookie, but it tends to fire to the left or right if your blaster regulator is badly set, we get a lot of bad regulators. It is also hard to hit moving targets that are not in formation. Lastly, some stormtroopers are badly out of shape and in combat suffer from "shaky hand."

What are the advancement opportunities in your career?

There are not many ways to move up. Sometimes you can become a technician. The best place is imperial servitor. This is like a non-commisoned officer. They wear black half helmets and follow the officers around, waiting for orders. They also get powerful blaster pistols that are much more accurate than the average blaster. But if you want to rise above that you have to go to the Imperial Officer training Academy and study for 800 solar rotations, then pass an exam.

Are you happy with your job?

Not really. It is not my dream military employment. There is lots of days when you sit around the barracks, stardreaming about the places you will go and the things you'll do. There are always rumors, lots of rumors. Like "We are being rotated to Naboo. The Empire is giving all the troops a credit bonus. The rebels are going to attack us soon." The pay is nothing great, 3000 credits for a tour of duty. I'd rather be a bounty hunter. I hear you can make a real fortune that way.

Is your armor effective against laser fire?

Our full-body armor gives full protection against all primitive kinetic weapons, from arrows and clubs to firearms. It can also withstand low-power blaster shots. Commercially sold blasters are usually pretty useless against it. But the rebels and terrorists we have been fighting not only build their own military-grade weapons, but modify hunting blasters and steal our E-11's. Our carbine's can blast through any amount of personal armor, not that the rebels use any. I would say that our standard stormtrooper armor is very good against aliens and primitive technology, but a heavy enough laser charge will burn a hole straight through it.

Why do you have helmets you can't see out of?

It's largely a matter of protection. It is essential to give full protection to a trooper's head. The regulation helmet has double-thick hyperglass lenses. The helmet is very thick to withstand low-power blasters and is completely sealed against chemical and nerve-gas weapons, which the cowardly rebellion is sure to use against us very soon. But these features do make it a little difficult to see clearly. The hyperglass lenses are curved, which gives everything a 'magnified' look. But for all it's flaws our helmets provide excellent protection, temporary survival in space and are a essential piece of our personal armor. In my mind the effectiveness of the design far outweighs any defects. (But I wish I could wear one of those scout trooper helmets.)

How are working conditions?

The conditions vary according to where you are deployed. I'll never forget being stuck in a baking hot outpost on Tattoine, that was about when the first Death Star blew up. I was sweating like crazy in my armor. Ever ride a Dewback? Its the only thing in the desert sweatier than you, we didn't really get saddles, so it was hour after hour of lurching across the desert, trying to keep from losing the rations you ate that morning with one hand and blasting at sand people with the other. It was not fun. But then we got transferred. (Something about the rate of desertion being too high.) Our next spot was Cloud City. The life forms were unfriendly. Once the rebellion starts their propaganda thing everybody suddenly seems oppressed whenever we are around to preserve law and order. But we still had a good time. Our officer didn't want to give us passes. He walks in and says. "We are orbiting the planet Bespin, so I can't give you planetside passes." Then Torch, (he's my bunkmate, been with me since Hoth,) speaks up. "With all due respect sir, if we got any closer to this planets surface we'd be squished by the gas pressure. I'm sure you could give us 'almost planetside passes'." Everybody laughed. Our officer was a nice sort, not the average stuffy officer type. We got our passes and everybody had a good time.

Are you friendly with other imperial troops?

It is difficult to make friends in this job. There is a very military attitude in the Empire's troops. There is very strict discipline observed. But everybody in my squad knows each other. We all know we'll be there for each other if we ever get in a tight spot. My best mates are Torch and Mashi Sar, veterans of many deployments. Other than my squadmates I don't have friends in the forces. The officers are too stuck up, the enlisted men are too busy and the droids are too dumb.

Why do you work this job?

I signed up for the adventure, for the credits and the glory. I got boredom, minimum pay and big risks. At least I volunteered, the guys who got drafted can't quit for another 800 solar cycles. I've done four tours. Tattooine, Hoth, Endor and Bespin. After this tour I think I'll retire. Its just not a fun job. The Empire just lost their second, not-so-secret superweapon, so they are making budget cuts. That means less pay for the troopers. I think I'll catch a freighter back to Coruscant and look for some mercenary jobs. They pay good for veteran Imperial soldiers. You ask why I work this job? Right now I'm asking myself the same thing.

Why don't stormtroopers ever reload their blasters?

One of the advantages of the  E-11 over the old DC-17's is the new gas injector. One cartridge of Tibanna gas gives 40 shots of low-power blasts or 10 shots of overload blasts. And if a trooper did reload you probably just didn't see it. We are trained to reload very quickly. Also, the new E-12 used in the battle of Endor can fire twice as many shots from one cartridge, though this reduces accuracy and the overload feature is disabled.

Why didn't you use camouflage on Endor?

I was not actually present for the battle, but I've read all the reports and talked to veterans. Unfortunately, the Empire's tacticians had decided that camouflage in obsolete and too expensive in view of the recent budget cuts, after the first Death Star went south due to a malfunction with its megalaser. The scout troopers deployed there were equipped with stealth field belts which i'm sure you've seen in action. But you must understand that imperial troops are not cowardly rebels. We are the most elite troops, (and due to budget cuts the only ground troops.) We do not normally ambush and hide. We storm in and cut down any resistance without mercy. We stand tall and take pride in defending the Empire from rebels, terrorists and anyone who defies law and order. Sorry, I got carried away. I've been watching too many Imperial propaganda films. I hear that we are reconsidering using camouflage in our planetside operations.

Do you have a personal life?

I don't have time for one right now. And if I did I wouldn't share it with you. Once my Bespin tour ends I'm gonna start making some real credits. If I work hard I'll be able to retire in a few years to my little piece of paradise planet. With my sail barge, my fancy house and my own valley of otherworldly wilderness. Check up on me in a few years and I'll sell you the rights to my autobiography. Its gonna be a best seller.

Return of the Infrequent Blogger

Ahoy! I am actually typing again, sort of. I am currently attending college so I have no time to write full-length stories. But here's my idea. I want to write a story chapter-by chapter whenever I have the time and post it. The story will be based on MARVEL comic book characters and set in a alternate universe where the Avengers live in 19th century England. I will not be infringing on any copyrights since I am not selling this story. Anyway I think It will be fun to write and hopefully fun to read. I will try to post the first installment very soon. Please reply and tell me what you think. I would love to hear your opinion.

Great quote by Senneca

“Flee luxury, flee enfeebling good fortune, from which men’s minds grow sodden, and if nothing intervenes to remind them of the common lot, they sink, as it were, into the stupor of unending drunkenness. The man who has always had glazed windows to shield him from a drought, whose feet have been kept warm by hot applications renewed from time to time, whose dining halls have been tempered by hot air passing beneath the floor and circulating round the walls — this man will run great risk if he is brushed by a gentle breeze…The staunchest member of the body is the one that is kept in constant use…So the bodies of sailors are hardy from buffeting the sea, the hands of farmers are callous, the soldier’s muscles have the strength to hurl weapons, and the legs of a runner are nimble. In each, his staunchest member is the one that he has exercised.” -Seneca

Sunshine part 2

I nominate
Abigail at http://ajs-writings.blogspot.com/2014/05/a-good-movie.html
Sarah at http://howtowatchamotionpicture.blogspot.com/2014/06/edge-of-tomorrow.html
James at http://jandjproductions1809.blogspot.com/
Eden at http://onecreativelass.blogspot.com/
Saxon at http://aknightsquest.blogspot.com/

These are my questions
1.If you could go anywhere, where would you travel?

2.If you could live in 1945 would you?

3.Would you mind if there was less gravity on Earth?

4.What is your favorite movie genre, (Kind of movie.) ?

5.Who is your favorite author-director-artist?

6.Favorite book series?

7.If you could have had any other name, what would it be?