Monday, January 11, 2010

Back to the news biz, still looking to wrap the book soon

Today I get back on the job after a week off (going to CES was my idea). Man do I already miss waking up whenever I feel like it!

The return to a daily routine may actually help me finish these last four chapters of Heritage Fields. I am tempted yet again to expand the book as the story evolves. I'm at a spot where I'm asking myself how the heck to do I wrap up all these threads in the remaining pages.

Before anyone jumps up and shouts "sequel", understand this: You must present a complete, coherent story in each book. There must be a resolution to the conflict, happy or not. Forget about run-on sentences, a run-on story cannot be sold.

Got some great feedback the other day at the latest gathering of Liberty States Fiction Writers. People seem to really enjoy one of my minor characters. Before I get all excited and give him too much space on the page, I remind myself of how minor characters in other stories got overly played and lost their appeal.

Anyway, now it's back to the trenches for me. I will get this first draft finished this month. And then I can put the story through the meat grinder for rewrites.

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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