Almost to Adulthood is now available on Kindle for only $0.99!

This is a collection of short stories for young boys, parents of young boys, and adults who enjoy the kind of “children’s” literature which was never childish, set in the fantastical past (fantastic enough to feature an occasional dragon or the rumor of faerie, but not so fantastical that we leave earth). Full of both charm and danger, these stories invite readers into adventures that go beyond mere escapism, so that readers can bring something back with them to the real world.

 

Enjoy this sample, then check the book out to read more!

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Long ago, when dragons still walked the earth and there were more magicians than engineers, there lived a young boy who dreamed of being a hermit.  His name was Ethan, after his father, and he lived in a small peasant village somewhere on the edge of civilized Europe—in a place very few people had ever heard of, let alone been to.  Less than twenty families comprised this small village, with less than thirty children—only four of whom were within Ethan’s mature age of ten.

That’s four more than Ethan would’ve preferred.

Ethan, as you might have guessed, was a small boy, smaller than even the nine year-olds.  Consequently, he was often picked upon—even by the girls—and often would come home with scrapes and bruises from some fight that had been forced upon him.  This soured Ethan towards the other children considerably: he did not like those who fought with him; he did not like the younger children who laughed; and most of all he did not like the older children who watched and did nothing about it.  In fact throughout the entire village there were only two children that Ethan did like: one was a little five year-old girl who had brought him a flower once when he lay sulking in the mud, and the other was a young man who had once intervened on his behalf in a fight.  But the young girl was not usually allowed out, and the young man was usually out in the fields helping his father with the work, so there was no one for poor Ethan to be friends with.

That is why he decided to be a hermit.

Hermits, you see, don’t need people.  They live in the wilderness where nobody can find them, sometimes in caves, sometimes on mountaintops, and sometimes on islands separated from the continent by vicious waters.  A particularly nasty hermit will live in a tall tree, simply so he can spit on people who walk beneath it and disturb his solitude.  Hermits live happily completely by themselves, meditating, cultivating their gardens, tending their animals, and making maps of the surrounding countryside if it was uninhabited.  Actually, Ethan wasn’t sure whether or not hermits made maps or not—but Ethan liked to make maps, and he like to explore, so he determined that that would be part of his job when he became a hermit.  That’s one of the advantages of being a hermit, you know: you don’t have to worry about people telling you that you can’t be an explorer when you grow up.

No, hermits didn’t have to worry about such rules; they had a care-free life.  They didn’t have to worry about table manners.  They didn’t have to worry about paying taxes.  They didn’t have to worry about how to spell floccinoccinilipilification.  And most of all, they didn’t have to worry about Hubert.

Hubert was eleven years old, but was as big as fifteen.  He had the muscles of an ox, the temper of a wild boar, the manners of a rat, and the brains of a Chihuahua.  Hubert was the young miscreant who had given Ethan his first black eye.  Hubert was the despicable thug who had stolen Ethan’s collection of rare rocks.  Hubert was the repugnant troll who had given Ethan his second black eye, when he tried to get his rock collection back.  Hubert was the odious malefactor who had told everyone that Ethan picked his nose—which wasn’t true; he was just scratching beneath his nose.

But hermits didn’t have to deal with Hubert, or with other people like Hubert—or with girls who liked people like Hubert.  So Ethan was going to be a hermit.  And an explorer.

Ethan spent a lot of time exploring the wooded hills near to the village.  He would slip out for days at a time, going on expeditions to find every last waterfall, every last cave, and every last climbable tree in the wood on the hills.  He always came back, of course—for he had not yet learned how to make the stew that his mother made for him, nor had he learned how to sew up the holes in his garments, nor had he yet finished the memorizing the whole of the catechism (though he knew well enough the Creeds), which he needed if he was to grow up properly.  So Ethan had some learning to do before he could set out permanently to become a hermit.  He didn’t mind that too much, anyway, for his parents—and maybe two or three of the other adults in the village—were actually quite good company.  It was the children who were so awful…

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Excerpts from some of the other stories will be coming soon!