Wednesday, March 4, 2009

A new writing workshop

Spring is almost here, all snow aside, and Rutgers is hosting another round of writing workshops.

These things are helpful for giving feedback and a kick in the pants in case you get off your writing schedule. AND this time there is a science fiction and fantasy workshop led by the groovy instructor I had for a previous short fiction workshop.

I have to see how this might fit into my schedule.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Snapshot update

Heritage House
Rewrites on first five chapters. I like the current treatment of the story better than when I first got rolling on this, better than my original concept.

The trouble with writing is you have to say NO to all the variations and divergent ways you might tell a story and focus on the one tale you are telling. The reader can try and guess and wonder but the writer has to sit down and decide what is really happening.

The plan is still to finish Heritage House at about 22 chapters by end of May. Still very doable.

Riding Ten Thunders: No nibbles yet.

Family: Things are still complicated but my Dad is making small improvements. My Mother is still pretty anxious.

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