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You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.

Janet Morris

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Janet Morris
Age: 78
Born: 1946
Born: May 25
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Janet Ellen Morris
Janet E. Morris
Three
Today
Done
Enough
Feckless
Treacherous
God
Fool
Quite

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When the balance is restored, people get hurt.
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Bandara was not an easy place to return to: it could hide from the common worlds whose periphery it inhabited. But Bandara never had, in all its years, completely disappeared.
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Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.
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Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.
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What wastrel mankind destroyed takes time for nature to put to rights.
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Gods have bloody hands.
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Gods and politics are the tools with which the godless and unprincipled manipulate the gullible.
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It's all right. Things as they once were will never be again, but it's all right.
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All gods are tricksters, and war gods worst of any.
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There must be love, and understanding, to betray. Most men haven't the wit or the honor for betrayal: not to know it when they see it not the stomach to apprehend it as they do it. Most men, blind and dumb in their self-centeredness, don't betray: they merely disappoint.
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Something is going on everywhere, most of which no one understands.
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Men may not believe you, my son. But you must always say the truth, when the truth holds no danger for you or your loved ones.
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You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.
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Everything that anyone respects is what men naturally excel at: fighting, accruing wealth, playing at power.
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And as for death - we get what we expect.
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So well do I love you, I go to my god singing your praises. When I meet my father, I will tell him I fought beside you.
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I'm just a weapon of the god.
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I must decide if you deserve to die.
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For Tempus...was a dozen storm gods' avatar no army he sanctified could know defeat no war he fought could not be won. Combat was life to him he fought like the gods themselves.
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If you want to write something completely unique, you will probably fail or at best write something without redeeming value. The mind works in certain patterns: the mind organizes facts in story form it is your commonality with that body of human thought that makes a good book, not its estrangement from the common values that humans share.
Janet Morris