“What’s that smell?” We were in the scriptorium and something definitely seemed off. Q waved his hand dismissively.

“Viggo discovered fire.”

“He what, now?” I asked.

Without looking up from whatever he was doing with that glass pipette and a safety pin, he sighed.

“Fire. He discovered fire. Somehow it never occurred to him before yesterday that the way the candles magically come to be lit was by someone with one of those long, clicking lighters. Father Mo hasn’t been able to lock them up fast enough.”

He paused, sat back and cocked his head as he looked at his handiwork, then leaned back over it. “He’ll probably burn down the monastery,” he said flatly.

I stared at him for a moment. “You know, for a Buddhist, you’re not a very nice person.” Continue reading

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Road Warrior

In retrospect, it was perhaps a good indication of things to come when I climbed into the car with Brother Junius and noticed he was wearing goggles. In my eagerness to get off of monastery grounds, I jumped at the opportunity when Father Mo asked if I’d like to help do the shopping, and dismissed the goggles as a mere eccentricity. Now that I have the distance of hindsight working in my favor, I realize something: Junie’s eccentricities can be deadly, and Father Mo is a jerk. Continue reading

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Carol Silver, Master of Diversion

“Do you know what it means?”


“Is it God talking?”

“Some people think so.”

“Was that the first time it happened?”


“Are you mental?”

“Shut up.” Continue reading

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The Sorcerer Apprentice

Banausic Abbey (which is what I’ve decided to call it for the purposes of my story) is on a nice big piece of property that backs up to a national forest, and is, by all accounts, a beautiful place to live. Behind the monastery there is an enormous garden where we grow enough vegetables to feed everyone and then some, some fruit trees, and a big grassy field where we occasionally play team sports during recreation time. Quidditch is the current favorite. Of course. These monks are a bunch of fucking nerds. There are some houses further up the dirt road that terminates in front of the abbey, so for the most part there is no one around. And this is why it wasn’t much of a problem that Brother Linus ran through the woods naked and speaking tongues. He doesn’t normally do that though; only when he eats shrooms. Maybe I should back up. Continue reading

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Ken Brown Did It

When I was a five years old, my grandmother gave me a Ken Brown calligraphy set for Christmas. It had five nibs, a nib-holder, some italic lined paper, a bottle of ink and an instruction booklet. My mother had a fit because, well, you know – a five year old boy and a bottle of India ink. But I was careful with it. Incidentally, I had been hoping for Legos that Christmas. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if she had given me Legos. Maybe I’d be an engineer right now instead of a loser holed up in a monastery. Maybe I’d be an architect. Or maybe I’d just be the first artist to figure out a criminal use for Legos. You never know about these things. Continue reading

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I was sitting in the scriptorium the other day with a pair of tweezers balanced on a fucking hair stuck between two papyrus fibers when I heard someone running up and down the hall outside the door like a herd of fucking elephants. It’s a monastery; people are supposed to be quiet, aren’t they? For contemplating God or some such bullshit? Yeah, that doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, Brother Viggo happens. Continue reading

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The Palimpset

At this point I’m going to flatter myself into thinking that you’re interested in my story and might be wondering about The Project. Truthfully, there are a bunch of them. These monks have the chill hustle going on, no shit. They had it all figured out before I even got here and had been gimping along without an illustrator, but needed me to round out their crew of jolly pirates. Continue reading

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The abbey where I live is outside a small town in a rural area of the Pacific Northwest. There are five monks here, myself included, and our abbot, Father Modestus. We call him Father Mo for short, but unofficially it’s short for “Mo’ Money.” As far as we can tell the whole counterfeiting operation is his brainchild, ostensibly to fund the monastery and feed the poor. I’m skeptical, but only because in my naïveté I don’t know how to reconcile charity with criminal art fraud. Continue reading

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Hello world!

Hi. I guess this is as good a place to start as any, seeing as how this is my first blog entry and all. My name is Squiberticus. That isn’t my real name, of course, but I probably didn’t have to tell you that. It’s a name I made up to protect the innocent, namely me, but the word “innocent” might even be somewhat of a stretch. Who IS innocent these days anyway, right? I mean, it’s the Internet age, the twenty-first century, where you get a domain name assigned at birth and third graders are running their own sub-Reddits for dank memes.


I don’t care about any of that.

What I do care about is my work, which is something I do well. Very well. And if I knew how to market my craft I think I would probably be making a shit-ton of money, but unfortunately, marketing is not my thing. That, and the fact that most of the people who would actually buy my work would probably be just as likely to kill me if I approached them with a proposition.

“Hey,” I’d say. “You look like someone who might know a guy.”


So I answered a Craigslist ad that sounded interesting and ended up in what is, by all accounts, a really fucking weird situation. But I get to do the shit I love, I get free room and board, and a big payoff in the end. When the time comes I’ll get the hell out of this place, but honestly, I have no idea what I’ll do back in the real world. So for now, this is it.

My name is Squiberticus, and I live in a monastery. During the day I pretend to be a normal, run of the mill monk, hard at work in a scriptorium restoring medieval manuscripts. Only I’m not doing a lot of restoration, I’m creating them. Really good ones. When it comes to medieval forgeries, this is the gold standard. As I said, I’m good at what I do, I just suffer from chronic stupidity when it comes to getting paid.

Anyway, at night I hang out with my brothers here at the abbey and work on my pet project: a modern translation of the Bible. Sure, it’s not the best way to meet women, but honestly, I’m not good for anyone right now anyway. So I’m just cooling my heels until this job is done, and then I’ll figure out what comes next.

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