Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Writing into '09

I plan to spend my holiday nights banging out new pages for the new book and making the occasional revision to Riding Ten Thunders (RTT). I have a schedule to keep and June will be here before I realize.

For anyone just checking in, or not really paying attention, I am working on a supernatural thriller in a contemporary US setting at the moment. This is my second attempt at writing a book. Meanwhile, I am still shopping RTT around and making revisions when the mood strikes me.

This means I am juggling characters and plot lines. It can make one a little crazy keeping both straight but the stories are very, very different.

I am considering attending one of the major writing conferences or workshops in 2009. They are not exactly the cheapest things to attend but could prove to be invaluable in the long run. some of the workshops run for multiple weeks during the summer. The conferences are usually one or two-day affairs in Manhattan. I will keep you posted.

I have also considered a serious one-man vacation. The Grand Canyon and Japan are still on the list but I have been thinking lately I might want to try a safari. Yeah I know there are all sorts of things to plan and consider before venturing out into the wilds of a distant land. But the thing is I kind of need to put my feet on the ground on different soil. I don't think some of my writing will be truly genuine until I do. This is still just an idea at the moment. I have some things to investigate before making it something real on my calendar.

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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