I've produced my first available module, admittedly with some backlash: Ternketh Keep, a floating keep inhabited by harpies and other deadly monsters. I can tell you this adventure has my one group of 6th-7th campaigners on the ropes. They're still game but it hasn't been easy. A complete description of the keep can be found in the link above, on my game wiki - O gentle reader, if you haven't had a look yet, have a look.
The wiki itself continues to expand. It is up to 954 pages. I've just finished adding 1st level Bardic spells and I hope to continue adding spell descriptions through March. Of course, it also means I'll be adding rules here and there, like the intoxication rules I added last week. The wiki never ends, it just waits for me to add new pages.
I also put forth a podcast two weeks ago, which can be heard on soundcloud. In it my daughter and I share a generational approach, talking about our first gaming experience, edition differences, conventions and introducing children to D&D. I'll be putting forward the 2nd episode this Sunday, and every three weeks after that, until we have created 12 podcasts altogether this year.
My book sales have doubled through February, to where I was selling better than a book a day. That's pretty good for someone without any means. About 2/3rds of those books are How to Run - but I am doing very well with The Dungeon's Front Door and even How to Play a Character continues to sell volumes. My family has stepped forward to help make sure that I'll be presenting those books and the new one I'm writing, The Fifth Man, at the Edmonton Expo this coming September. We did $500 a day there last year.
And that brings me to the Jumpstarter Proposal that is still with us. I encourage all my readers who haven't made a contribution to please change your minds. I really want to enable the writing of the new book (been working on it hard all weekend) and continue to produce content on the blog and the wiki just as hard as I can. A $25 donation can make a very big difference for anyone with the generosity to help me out in these difficult times.
I just recently introduced a character into the novel who's name was paid for with a $100 donation. It was a terrific thrill for me to fit the name and the description together, to make someone memorable both for me and my most hospitable reader:
The first of these was a thickset stranger, with a waist, chest and shoulders all of the same proportion; he looked to be very heavy and strong, with black scraggled hair that hung from under his cap like a wet mop upon the half-inch stubble on his face. He wore the grey coat of an army officer, but all the buttons and insignia had been snipped away and there was a rent in the shoulder that ran down as far as his elbow. A heavy belt was cinched around his waist, over the coat, holding a scabbard knotted to the leather and a poor soldier’s sword.
His companions gave this ‘officer’ a respectability he wouldn't deserve among other men. The ruffian on the officer’s left was dressed in a miner’s jacket and breech pants, both of which were stained with dirt; he smiled and I saw that all the teeth on the right side of his mouth were missing. Whatever accident had befallen him had left him with adequate fixtures on his left, but the shortcoming twisted his face out of decency. Left of the officer was the tallest of the thugs, a graceless, gangling apparition with a small face and narrow eyes, marked by dark stains for irises. His booted feet failed to meet the hem of a tunic he wore, showing blackened knees that had gathered layer upon layer of muck. This creature smiled at me and at Ruchel in turn, like a butcher settling which of two cows were to be made ready for the slaughter that day. I felt the spittle in my mouth turn sour as I forced myself to smile back, remembering words from my father about holding my ground.
The last of this rabble, back of the officer, wore better clothes than the rest; but the filth that showed on the shoulders and sleeves, with their poor fit, proved they were not made for him. I guessed them stolen. A green kerchief cut his face in half, covering one eye; the other rolled around in curious interest, all about the cottage. At last his roaming gaze rested on me and he chuckled. "He must be the boy, Vann."