Saturday, October 4, 2008


My guts are twisting up inside as I slash and burn down Chapter One!

The only way to get anyone interested in publishing this damn thing is to tighten it up drastically.

"Kill your darlings"... GOD I hate this!

But if I want to get published, if any of this is going to matter beyond myself, I have to do it.

The curtness of the rejections tells me that my previous submissions were not gripping anyone. The pace was plodding.

And let's be honest...I have given friends of mine a look at the book and NO ONE has really gotten back to me on it. That's the polite way of not having to tell me something is not interesting.

In addition to the literary surgery, I spent a good chunk of the day watching bootleg anime courtesy of YouTube. FCC can kiss my ass. None of this stuff has been released commercially in the US otherwise I would go out and buy it already...

But I could not wait, we're talking Fist of the North Star here! Kenshiro, show everybody the strength of your pimp hand!!!

this also means I skipped the wine festival, as much as I wanted to go I couldn't justify the expense, taking the drive out there alone, or bringing home more wine when I am lacking storage for it. I have plenty left that I need to drink as it is...

Anyway, I will have the leaner, meaner manuscript sample ready to send out for Monday.

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Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away