Thursday, December 4, 2008

Oh boy! Another form letter :-)

I think I may want to critique some of the rejection letters I get. For sake of fun, I could use the amusement. I will rank the letters on a scale of one to five "Angry Kenshiros". The more Kenshiros, the more irritated it makes me.

This latest letter ranks THREE ANGRY KENSHIROS because it uses a bad photocopy of the agent's logo. That is just poor form! At least print a stack of your rejection notices. It doesn't even have to be on fancy paper! The fact that the logo is faded and streaky is just sad.

Enough talk, on with Kenshiro!!!! Really, I make these posts for the sake of fun. Rejection is part of the process. I have my next agent lined up with a fresh query ready to go in the mail tomorrow...

I grumble here so I can get it out of my system and forge ahead. I already know the high cost of quitting before achieving my goals.

Monday, December 1, 2008

I have my villain

Every protagonist needs a serious nemesis to challenge him. The more interesting the villain, the harder the lead characters must work to try to defeat him.

I have the mindset down for the antagonist in this next book I am working on...

he is a twisted SOB so I can relate quite easily LOL

Sunday, November 30, 2008

It's GO time!


Latest query for the book is in the mail.

Making my final menu choices today and buying the nonperishable ingredients.

And much writing to get done tonight before heading back to the office tomorrow.

For those who cannot make it to the party next week, I promise to post pictures and video of the shenanigans later. Even if only a few make it, there will be much to enjoy here so show up hungry and leave happy!!!

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