Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Black Saturday, the Hard Cut

I've reached my latest plateau in the rewriting process for Black Saturday. Plot lines have been streamlined, characters consolidated, focus tightened.

Adding one new chapter to help wrap it up, then will reread it for edits and cohesion. I call this a plateau because it must then go to an editor for their suggestions.

Then will come more rewrites. After that, at long last, it goes to the publishers that wanted a look.

Yes, I am exhausted. I have plenty of other things to do on top of all this, but it is nice to see some results. Things feel more tangible than they have in a long time and that is a great place to be.

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