In the many parallel worlds filling the universe, earth is a rare world which possessed the largest amount of 'interference' from other worlds. The most common interference is the summoning of heroes and reincarnation. This story is no different except that in the process of calling the desired people, the efforts of three goddesses were messed with causing the summoned to not be the older brother or the father. Instead a four year old child was summoned.Backed by her love of fairy tales and folklore, we shall see how this young child with the help of her lazy best friend and pet cat will change the very face of the world starting from a tiny cloud and becoming a dungeon filled with any and all fairy tales she had heard of and watched.Following her adventures, what will the coming of her next floor bring

The Civilizations of the First and Second Man have been destroyed by the products of their own technology. Now the world is emerging from a new dark age into the dawn of a second Middle Ages. Britain is dominated by a Luddite Church and by the doctrine that all machines are evil. Into this strange world comes Kieron, an artist's apprentice who is inflamed by a forbidden dream - to construct a flying machine which will enable man to soar through the air like a bird.

"Blue Ice" is not an attempt to be catchy or complicated. These are just words that give away emotion and substance to the expressions that fall all around "thin ice". They are just words that apply to what I write about most - relationships of the intimate kind - often those not considerate of our welfare or worth. I have wrestled an almost innate need to rescue and fix people, obeying false commandments and paying penance to procure my own good, and believe I deserve it. What makes it too daring to save ourselves before extending an arm through shards of blue ice, clutching a hand held offering... still beating? I do not want you to think this is a dark book shrilling prophetic doom in contorted faces. It is about rising up on the power of our own self-worth. It is about being anchored by the shouts from lamp lit watch towers, old draw bridges, and warmed stick built shacks - everywhere. If there is obscurity in my poems and stories, it's so you may see yourself in a few words, a phrase or sentence, and chisel or sculpt what you need to find in one spring fed pocket of air that you are not alone. ... it is in the wrestling with cold swirling waters that we find our bliss, sustain it breath by breath, and round by round. Am I on thin ice? Maybe, but I can see blue a safe distance away. Just words...

The Story of Dream Land