Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Algonkian Conference is less than a day away

Tomorrow begins the four-day pitch conference. You get no points for just showing up. No one will pat me on the head for trying. Everyone selected to attend believes they have a moneymaker and you're damn right I feel the same about Heritage Fields.

The conference starts at 9AM sharp tomorrow and runs throughout the day. This will give me a crash course in the morning commute to Manhattan.

I am not as anxious as I am determined. You will not hear much from me until it is over unless there is some dramatic breaking news.

But let's keep our feet on the ground. This is competitive business.

There is a piece of strategy you should adopt when facing insurmountable odds. I forget if it is from the Book of Five Rings or the Art of War.

When outnumber and defeat seems certain, destroy your own wagons and remove the possibility of escape. Thus your soldiers will fight harder to achieve victory.

I'm paraphrasing but the sentiment is clear. Do not allow yourself to retreat. Move forward and win.

So... I am going to sell a book!

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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