Monday, December 29, 2008

Midway through the holidays

Christmas '08 is a wrap and New Year's Eve now beckons.

Had a nice Christmas with my folks and the dogs. I do what I can to bring them some excitement, cheer and brownies when I visit. My mom says I need to bring her more brownies next time. She is tickled by the notion of me cooking and baking from scratch. You learn to make things happen, you know? And my brownies are pretty darn good (I put pictures up on Facebook). If I have personally offered you some brownies (and you know who you are) and you didn't take me up on my offer: They were delicious.

Back to business: Giving my latest query on Riding Ten Thunders one more week before I contact the next agent. The next submission is already prepared and packaged with certain revisions. It will be out the door soon as I hear back from the last agent. I could submit simultaneously but that is poor form I think. You should not bombard agents with copy and then keep your fingers crossed. That's like saying you expect most of them to hate your story.

Okay, so most agents WILL hate your story but you still need to treat each submission seriously and not as some "throw away" attempt.

The NEW BOOK is well under way. I am 60 pages in. I am still not sharing more details on this project yet. Maybe in March I will have more to say. Most likely no one will see the first chapter of it until I finish the first draft and next June is my target completion date.

Regarding New Year's Eve, I'll poke my nose around Manhattan. I'll post my New Year's resolutions later this week. There will be a lot of changes in 2009...

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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