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“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
– Ray Bradbury
Keint yg kat godeu bric, Rac Prydein wledic.
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- Public Info
- Loudmouthed and occasionally full-of-bullshit Briton. Is a pretty damn good blacksmith of all things, makes most of his money with that. Knows a bunch of languages. On the side, does professional research and translations for other people, does freelance writing of many stripes, teaching music, repairing instruments, session playing of traditional music, occasionally busking, occasionally recording his own stuff. Has a good singing voice and a ridiculously morbid sense of humor, was probably a goth as a teenager. He is cranky most of the time and he is a huge troll some of the time. Is legit a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism.
- Lost Info
- Neirin is a British Thusser/Author/Smith, a Martial Correspondent of the Eternal Echoes, a member of the Winter Court, and has a smithy in Fort Brunsett that specializes in cold and hand-wrought iron weaponry. (He also sells handcrafted stringed instruments there. Check it out: Hammersmith (FB02).)
- Hookly Stats
- Expression 5: Specs - Songwriting, Writing, Performance
- Academics 3: Specs - Research, Historical Weaponry
- Crafts 5: Specs - Luthier, Smithing
- Alternate Identity: Alan Brixton (a pen name for reviews, fiction, and pop culture crap)
- Merits: Eidetic Memory; Striking Voice: Tenor; Fame 1 in each of: Musician, Writer, Blacksmith
- Professional Training: Blacksmith
- Contacts: Wholesalers, SCAdians, Publishers, Academics
- Languages: Cornish, Breton, Irish, Welsh, German, French, Latin, Greek
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| The guy's a writer. He's been and has the skillsets and writing styles of a journalist, a columnist, a diarist, and a satirist. He's written prose fiction and poetic fiction, he's written in free verse and metered, with and without rhyme, and he's written songs, music and lyrics inclusive.
Incomplete list of published works:
- Broken Bottles: A collection of interviews and essays on the experiences of young people and children in war zones
- Les Possibilités de Carrière: A regular column in La Depeche du Midi, a local paper in Toulouse
- Erhöhen Sie Ihre Stimme: A short, informal history of Viennese immigrant music in the 20th century
- Sauber Verbrannt: A waltz for someone he could have loved.
- Die Mühe beim Gehen: A ballad for a friend.
- Möbius Roundabout: A licensed Doctor Who novel involving the Tenth Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith; published as Alan Brixton
- Triskele: A nonfiction examination of threes in Celtic symbolism, writing, and mythology
- Names of the Dead: A study on the remaining works of Aneurin
- No One Talks That Way: A song for an aggravating friend
- Heitere Totentanz / Gallows Humouresque: A song for 'Kaye'
- The Five Companions: A licensed Doctor Who novel featuring Tegan, Ace, Mickey, Donna, and Amy. Because that's not a recipe for disaster or anything; published as Alan Brixton
- Borrowed: But really though fuck the Gentry.
- You're Doing It Wrong: A Book of Teachable Moments: Wherein Alan Brixton rants about literally everything and demands everyone get the hell off his lawn. It is comedic, and makes at least as much fun of its author as it does every other targeted sin. The blog version is called 'Wrong on the Internet'.
- Eisenbastion: a seasonal-courts waltz
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| Real Name:
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Robin James Collier
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| Pen Name:
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Alan Brixton
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| AKA:
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Neirin
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| Concept:
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Pissy Nerd Man
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| Apparent Age:
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30- or 40-something
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| Date of Birth:
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Feb 16, 1968
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| Nationality:
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English
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| Vice:
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Addictive
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| Virtue:
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Diligent
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| Occupation:
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Musician, Writer, Linguist, Blacksmith, Luthier, Troll
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| Seeming:
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Wizened
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| Kith:
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Thusser/Author/Smith
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| Entitlement:
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Eternal Echoes, Martial Correspondent
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| Motley:
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None
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| The words of a living language are like creatures: they are alive. Each word has a physical character, a look and a personality, an ancestry, an expectation of life and death, a hope of posterity. Some words strike us as beautiful, some ugly, some evil. The word 'glory' seems to shine; the common word for excrement seems to smell. There are holy words, like the proper name of God, pronounced only once a year in the innermost court of Jerusalem's Temple. There are magic words, spells to open gates and safes, summon spirits, put an end to the world. What are magic spells but magic spellings? Words sing to us, frighten us, impel us to self-immolation and murder. They belong to us; they couple at our order, to make what have well been called the aureate words of poets and the inkhorn words of pedants. We can keep our words alive, or at our caprice we can kill them-- though some escape and prosper in our despite.
--Morris Bishop, Good Usage, Bad Usage, and Usage
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