Saturday, November 8, 2008

Let's get serious

OKAY

So I ran into someone a little while ago who reminded me of the things that are really most important to me. It was an unexpected meeting and I was just glad to be able to speak to this someone given my prior years of childishness. Thank you for that.

Right now, I am a modest reporter plying his trade...but I also want to... I need to become a published author. (well DUH, I have been saying that for years).

This is going to be a nightmare to pull off given the current climate of the publishing market. But this next book idea, it's a good one. It's a great one. I needed to link the mythology of it to characters you can't get out of your head.

I actually have some vacation time coming up. Guess what I will spend my time doing...

some people ask what I will write about, what kind of story.

When it comes to fiction, I am most interested in genre stories of the fantasy/supernatural flavor.

Years from now I might do some sort of memoir drawing on my years as a journalist. Nonfiction speaks too closely to the day-job and I don't want to mix the two at this point. Just doesn't appeal to me. My oldest sister and others try to point me down that path probably because that's what they want to read.

Sorry, these are the stories I have inside to tell.

I have some detective work to do on an old hard drive to recover some old material. Bits of info nearly forgotten but good ideas nonetheless.

Once I am hip deep in this next book, I promise to reveal more...

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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