Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
I will either get reject slips so fast it won't matter that I am working on fresh edits for the book OR they will take their time looking it over which gives me leeway to make some improvements.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
There is a very sad truth that more than one third of eligible citizens don't vote. That is enough to tip any election one way or the other.
Another sad truth, those with less education and minorities are less likely to vote. So in other words, those who are NOT in the controlling gentry are REALLY not being heard. I will try to post the data I got from the Census Bureau later.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
I have some tweaks to go back and work on, reedits and some clarifications. But the story is there finally.
There some plot holes and loose ends I MUST address that are not questions for a sequel to answer. It's just bad storytelling to leave readers confused about important points.
The ending came out different from what I conceived months ago. But for the most part I am pleased.
Word count is about 84,000, leaner and meaner compared with the 140,000 meandering mess I wrote earlier in the year. It is kind of trim for a book especially in this genre. You see a lot of books that are 100,000+ words in fantasy. And Wizard's First Rule clocked in above 300,000 but I have major issues with that bloated story.
I need to eat, do a little bit of shopping, then see my folks. Tonight I start the touch up work. But I can officially say I have written a full story.
Let's just hope it doesn't suck...
Flame and Bone
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