Wednesday, November 4, 2009

I should be quarantined

Not that I have frequent visitors at The Dojo. But yeah, I feel like I tried swallowing an iron pine comb. Looks like I will have to keep my big mouth shut as my throat heals.

I have a broad assortment of meds, I was raised by a pharmacist you know.

This does make it hard to work on the book. Coherency can be a struggle when medicated. Nonetheless, I shall forge ahead.

Speaking of books, I gave a look at a few bestselling chic lit books on the market, knowing I am NOT the intended audience but wanting to see the style of writing that grabs editors' attention.

That was very silly of me.

I am writing for a totally different market and must not let myself be distracted by trends involving a different demographic of reader. So it really doesn't matter that angsty-vampire romances are hot. That's not my audience.

However, Heritage Fields must have broad appeal or no one will want to publish it. So there is something to be learned about attracting readers.

I will get as many pages done as possible tonight before I pass out.

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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