A lifetime ago, I gathered with friends on Friday nights at the Boys and Girls Club in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia, and sat before an excellent Dungeon Master. He was a wiry fellow, tall and lanky. Throw a cloak on him and he’d have made the perfect wizard. From 1979 to about 1987, he took us on adventures with the roll-playing game Dungeons and Dragons.
We often went on certain adventures in real life inspired by the game, and we all returned safe and sound if not a little muddy and bruised. After all, I lived surrounded by forest and when we went to our camp, which we did often enough, I went deeper into the woods, where bats filled the night sky, fairies hid in bushes and the marshmallow man lurked.
In honour of those nights of D&D, each Friday I’m hold a write-a-thon and staying up until at least midnight, tea in hand, to write. Last Friday, I shut things down just before one o’clock because we had a wicked thunder and lightning storm.
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