Friday, August 21, 2009

Where I'm at now

I am up to 46,000 words on Heritage House and will probably wrap it at 90,000.

It's non-linear, this tale I am working on. All will be explained when it's done.

Reworking the outline because the flow is getting a bit confusing.

In the meantime, next week is Super Tuesday at my local Wine Country store, 25 percent off ALL wine.

BACK UP THE TRUCK, CUZ I'M GOING SHOPPIN'!

2 comments:

Janifer said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Janifer said...

Not to be debbie downer and all, but don't you think you should slow it down with the alcohol? I mean if you think about it, you've talked about your drinking quite often on FB as of late, and even though your friends might think it's pretty awesome that you have some a wide variety of wines at your disposal, have you paused for a bit to think what this might be doing to you system? You did mention that you had to slow it down a while back because your doctor mentioned you were putting your liver at risk. Just thought I'd put it out there.

Odd little side note, the word verification that blogger gave me to type in was: pubtrogi.

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