Last Post of the Year, First Post in a While (but there's a story at the end of it, at least!)

Hello!

So... long time, no see...

*koff*

Well, let's start with the basics: How have you been? If you've been celebrating any holidays, I hope they've been kind to you. If not, then I hope your regular days have merciful and pleasant, or better yet, interesting. Often, I think that a frustrating day full of events can actually be better for a person than one that goes smoothly. Facing difficulties helps us grow by giving us opportunities to prove what we can handle; it also gives us more to talk about. However, I might, just maybe, be trying to force optimism. Can't wait till the next time I feel like kicking a wall. I'm sure I'll find myself thinking of this post. "Screw growth and discussion! I'd rather be short and silent!" (Not to be confused with "silent but deadly"... anyway....)

This winter, I received a lot of proof of how fortunate I am to have the people around me that I do. They spoiled me beyond belief just by being who they are. Though I was given many nifty things that I don't deserve (tangible gifts as well as the gifts of kind words and thoughts - thank you all, you know who you are), one of the most amazing was this from Wes (sorry for the bad photo quality -- I was using my phone):


(Good thing he didn't draw me wearing a skirt....)

Okay, that's enough holiday cheer. I'm grateful, but I'm giving myself diabetes just re-reading this post.

In the last post of "My Poetry Year," I mentioned that I had another project I was working on, one I hoped to have ready by the end of this year. That was when I broke the first rule of planning an independent project: I spoke of a date before everything was ready. Then I broke the second rule. "Boy, hope I didn't jinx myself by mentioning it!" I wrote.

Stupid, stupid.

I read faerie tales; I know better. You don't talk about the magic. You don't speak while the spell is being cast; otherwise, well, you'll break it. And you definitely don't invite The Jinx to show up by mentioning it by name.

So, I still have these stories. I still have the materials to make the books. But now, I have to get back into the faeries' good graces, and I'm damn well not going to say how long that's going to take. But I believe in where my writing can go if I keep working at it. And that's where I'll leave that project for 2011.

In the meantime, I have a holiday story that I wrote much earlier in the year that I'd still like to share. The idea's one I like; the execution could be better. But it seems appropriate for these times. I hope that you enjoy it and that 2012 starts out well for you. Thank you.

Read the holiday story "Clean Bones" for free!

Boo.

Happy Halloween! Does it feel like Halloween to you? It sure doesn't over here. What a shiny, bright, sunny day. Blech.

You would think that, having not updated the blog for a few weeks, I'd return with fantastic news of all the crazy writing I've been doing and all the progress I'm making on the next project.

Nope.

Production on the next project is stalled for a bit. I'd rather have my artist-in-crime do work he's happy with than force him to put out lesser work sooner. It's one of the benefits of putting out your own work: you can adjust your schedule as need be, and since nobody knows who you are, no one cares. ;D Kidding, kidding. Sort of.

As for writing in general, I remain stocked with ideas but plagued with trouble when it comes to focusing and picking the right words out of the air. However, I was able to put together a rough little tale in honor of the holiday. It's not perfect, but I hope it gives you some giggles today. So enjoy a story, enjoy your trick-or-treating, and watch out for magically possessed house decorations:

Read "The Halloween They Always Wanted" for free!

Secret Transmissions

This message was stamped on a flier from a local hardware store. The flier advertised a sale on fertilizer. I am convinced, however, that I've really intercepted a message intended for the local vampire clans.

It's good to have a sound reason for your guess.

Snippets like this make me want to start my own "Word Balloon of the Day" feature.

It's Banned Books Week!

Searching for more information on it, I found this list of classic novels that have been challenged in the past. It also give information about the reasons they were considered objectionable:

Great 20th Century Novels Targeted by Censors

I really do believe that art creates a safe space in which we can discuss and analyze the ideas that speak to us, even those that make us uncomfortable and perhaps offend us. In that safe space, we can observe the world around us as it's seen by our creative peers, and, holding those thoughts and ideas up in our minds against what we know or feel to be right, we come out as strong-minded individuals, better for having examined so many possibilities.

Books. Good.

My Poetry Year: Entry #79

In which Your Humble Blogger ends the "My Poetry Year" project in a most fitting setting:

"The Lichens"

Green life seemed to flourish
In the grey morning air
That swaddled the graveyard,
Especially lichens,
Plant and mold matched in blooms
That spilled from the cracked stones.

The same grey morning air
Also nourished a scream
Inside a woman's chest
Until fissures appeared
In the name of her dead,
And she both laughed and cried
As she set the scream free,
Becoming pure nature.

* * *

And that's how it ends. Six syllables per line, with a first stanza that sits a bit awkwardly -- the "Especially lichens" line doesn't seem to be a good continuation of the first three lines, which land so solidly on their own, but it's necessary for the poem. Is it the best one I've written? Nope, though I still like the lines "Until fissures appeared/In the name of her dead." And I'm sure it might seem like an abrupt note to end this project on, an odd choice as the last poem to share (even if it does deal with death).

In truth, I didn't know that the poems were going to stop. But one day back in March, I had an idea that refused to be expressed as anything but a short story. Seconds after the idea occurred to me, I knew exactly how the story began. And as scared as I was -- I had been writing poetry for almost a year! -- I found myself wanting to attempt fiction once again.

I'm actually a little excited to show you all the results of that fiction binge, even though it won't be ready for about two more months. But I've had some help getting the stories into shape, which I didn't have when I did The People He Thought He Knew, and I hope that the resulting project will be a cohesive and entertaining (if short) bundle of stories. They rest comfortably in the realm of dark, modern fantasy. In fact, you might find "The Lichens" here reflected nicely in a few of them. You'll see what I mean before the end of the year. ;) (Oh, I bet I just jinxed myself by typing that.)

Anyway, that's where "My Poetry Year" brought me: back to fiction's doorstep, hah. Who knows, maybe after the next project I'll return to the reactions to these poems and whip my poetry into the shape it should be in. In the meantime, it's the last post for this project, but the first day of fall -- a good time for change, eh? Enjoy yourself out there today. And thanks for coming along.

My Poetry Year: Entry #78

In which Your Humble Blogger shares one for all those who like to go people watching:

"Two Pots and a Kettle"

For one breathless hour
A woman at the next table
Waited for a snail
That had been sharing the glass top
To do something.

Finally, joy and laughter:
A quivering of its antennae
Suggested that it was happy
And at home next to the carnation.

"That woman is either a poet
Or a lunatic," said my friend.
And after an hour
And five minutes of saga,
We stood up and left.

* * *

I waver between being rolling my eyes at this poem and finding it mildly amusing.

Lots of writers get their ideas by going outside and talking to people. I believe I remember hearing that the comic book writer Brian Michael Bendis goes to the mall to get impressions of how people talk and gather snippets of dialogue. It makes me wonder who would be the more interesting to actually observe: the people who are out there living their lives, or the writers who are watching them live, making notes at certain moments that, for whatever reason, they find important.