Monday, February 9, 2009

I changed my mind....

Riding Ten Thunders Chapter Four

Had a lot on my mind this weekend, most unrelated to writing and I must admit to being off schedule with Heritage House. My father's health keeps going up and down.

Anyway, Chapter Four of Riding Ten Thunders is above. I will past Chapter Five later. THAT is where I am gonna stop posting.


JC said...

So I finished reading chapter 4 and it looks like it's coming along quite nicely.

Just found two grammatical errors.

"Tell the twins to watch for more runaways tonight," Hobuyan said, intently watching the hounds trot awaywith their tails swishing in victory.

"Where is this gang is headed?" I asked, tired of the crude man's mouth.

Now I know you said you're only going to share up to chapter 5, are you reaaaly? ^__~

BTW, how did you enjoy the convention? And were you @ David & Busters Friday night?

acereporter73 said...

I finished writing Riding Ten Thunders several months back. It tops out at 20 chapters with some 380 pages and a little over 100,000 words.

I am not sharing any thing beyond chapter five in terms of material online. I will problably take it down after a couple of days. The rest stays on my hard drive.

While the story is done, occassionally I make tweaks and changes to the language when I rethink a particular section. Hence you may spot an occassional typo. But that's what happens with rewrites.

What I am most interested in is audience engagement.

In terms of Comic Con, I did not go. Too much family business going on at the moment.

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