For my actual project, I am planning to start one of the two novels I have planned to write.

Key Issues: The creator being powerless to control his creations (non-religion associated), scientifically explaining many of the conventions of fantasy, the will to survive in unfamiliar conditions, the result of giving power to the powerless, and the evil of greed.

Main characters: depends on which novel I decide to start. Either way, the actual character names are still up in the air a little. The first book would focus around 6 main human characters, the creator, and a few other characters met along the way. The second book would focus around 4 main human, characters, the creator, and a few characters from the other planet (also currently unnamed)

Setting: The setting of the two books will be Earth and the other unnamed planet.

Situation: Book 1: Six people sent to another planet to compete to stay alive. The group is supposed to work together to survive but quarrels within cause the group to split and become the leaders of different races on the other planet.Their quests for greed and survival bring the planet to an all-out global war.

Book 2: In the aftermath of global war, the creator creates four human sons to send to the planet to help govern and establish order. The brothers each have different talents. The strongest brother is killed by the returning enemy from the first book and the weakest goes to avenge his brother’s death. Rather than encountering the enemy, the weakest brother finds a wormhole that takes him to Earth. He meets others that have traveled through the same hole and he becomes educated on Earth in the ways of science. After finding a way back to his home planet, he finds that with his new knowledge, he can manipulate the atmosphere around him(i.e. explaining sorcery in fantasy books). With his new power he is uncontested. The power corrupts him and he goes on a quest to find his true purpose in life.

The Tragic Tale of the Death of my Father:
A Brief Narrative by H. L. Ross

With much regret I am forced to write this narrative concerning the death of my father, Mr. Ossian M. Ross. I am writing this for my own personal benefit and in remembrance of my father. If published, the following information would bring much shame to our family, and therefore, it will not be included in my book about the history of Havana and surrounding areas. Throughout his time in Havana, my father had been a prosperous farmer and prominent businessman. Being such an outstanding figure in the community, he tended to boast his talents and there were few things he did poorly. One of his favorite pastimes was pole climbing. For those who aren't familiar with this sport, it involves climbing a large wooden pole by means of spars and a belt. The climber digs into the poles with the spars and uses the belt to shimmy up to the top. I have never seen a spar pole climbing challenge my father would not accept, and, although he didn't consider himself a gambling man, he would often make bets on his own pole climbing abilities. My father also ran the town ferry and would often meet any newcomers before they reached the town.

On a brisk day near the end of October in the year 1836, a man by the name of Sir Bartholomew Wilhelm Hendrickson came to our town. Although we were never sure if that was his real name (in fact, we doubted it) he came to be known in Havana simply as "Sir Bart". Sir Bart was a bit of drifter; he, however, considered himself quite the gentleman and scholar. There was nothing Sir Bart was not capable of; you need simply to ask him and he would tell you. He always had a story tell or a point to prove and this began to irritate my father to a degree. Sir Bart and my father would constantly argue with each other. Surprisingly enough, however, was the fact that the two had never discussed pole climbing, but anyone who paid close attention to the two and their arguments knew that a pole climbing contest was inevitable.

During one of their nightly discussions in mid-November the issue was finally addressed. Sir Bart had heard of my father's love of the sport from other townspeople, and he saw it as a grand opportunity to spite my father.

"I've heard that you have an interest in pole climbing," Sir Bart said to my father. "For as good as you may be, I highly doubt you could beat me."

"That's absurd," my father replied. "There's not a man alive who can pole climb better than me. I've never been beaten."

"My family has a long history of the sport," Sir Bart retaliated. "My father worked in a logging camp when I was a child and I made it part of my daily routine. I was the best in the camp and I, my good sir, have never been beaten either."

My father was now outraged, and he decided to speak before he thought. "I'll bet my left testicle that you can't beat me at pole climbing."

"I accept your bet," Sir Bart replied, quite amused.

It was now that my father realized the severity of the stakes that he had agreed to, but he could not renounce his bet, for that would make others believe he had no confidence in his abilities. Sir Bart, however, was simply ecstatic, and was quite confident that he would beat my father.

"The contest will take place tomorrow morning at 9:00 A.M. in front of the Ross Hotel," Sir Bart announced to the crowd that had now gathered.

A cool wind was blowing on the dreary, overcast day of November 27, 1836, and a moderate crowd, bundled in heavy coats and huddled together, had now gathered in front of the Ross Hotel. The two contestants waited in anticipation near the area where the pole had been raised and a volunteer townsperson sat ready to begin the competition. Sir Bart and my father now donned their sparred boots and belts and waited for the signal to begin.

"GO!" the townsperson shouted, go they did indeed. The event lasted all of fifteen seconds, and despite my father's best efforts, Sir Bart had beaten him by a narrow margin.

Due to the grotesque nature of the events that ensued, they will not be discussed in detail. Fortunately for the good name of my family was the fact that the townspeople didn't know the nature of bet but simply that the contest was taking place. My father was a man of his word, and, despite the substantial suffering that he would endure, he kept his end of the bet.

It was the second of January when Sir Bart left Havana. He packed up his things and set out one morning, his coveted prize jangling in a small glass phial hanging from his belt, and was never seen in Havana again.

This event started the chain reaction of my father's decline and things only got worse after this point. His reputation was destroyed when he lost the contest, which just increasingly lowered his self esteem. He also began to suffer physically from the infection that afflicted his wound from the surgery. My father died on January 20, 1837, and it is my belief that he died as a result of the infection, loss of pride, or perhaps a combination of the two.

Some future readers of this narrative may be shocked by the nature of circumstances described, but they are the truth. Using one's own appendages as collateral for a bet was quite commonplace at the time, but such occurrences were rarely recorded. Although this must never be published, I feel it necessary to document the events that led to the tragic death of my father so to pass it on to future generations.