In Captivity, Chats with a Mad Man: Hard Landing

(To get into the mindset of a crazy fellow [or at least, a different brand of crazy than I already am] can be a trying process. While characters flit to and fro in the brain, craziness is one that you may not want to spend a lot of time with–for obvious reasons. That said, over the weekend I was struck with an idea for a new segment, a series of short stories from the perspective of one of the aforementioned crazies addressing an unfortunate prisoner–though I suppose the real surprise will be that it’s something modern. Pirates may be involved…or I may have said too much.

So I give to you “In Captivity,” an internet exclusive. The following is free flow dialogue.  The images awaiting you will be what your own mind summons from its murky corners. Posting schedule for the additional chains in the story will probably be…whenever they deem it proper to pop into my head. Marvel, hiss, or shake a walker at me–but I hope you enjoy the step outside my usual domain.)

Dunes

Damn, son. And they thought I was crazy. But there’s no crazy like American crazy, lemme tell you. Whoosh. Just like that. Sea howls and the sky roars and you know what it spits out of that diarrhea-streaked fishbowl? You, like you think you’re some merman or something.

Well the desert isn’t no place for a fishy, boy. Fish boy. Yeah. I like that. You ever think of yourself like a fish, eh? Where’s the rest of your school, fish? What’s that? I can’t hear you. Let’s try again: WHERE’S THE REST OF YOUR SCHOOL, FISH? Oh, you look scared, man. I know. You think I’m crazy. I tell you lots of people think that, you smile or nod your head? Oh, but they don’t say it to my face, so you just remember that.

You want to know where the rest of your school is? Swam, swam away for the summer. That’s what you all wanted to do. Turistas, eh? It’s a funny thing when you think about it. ‘Mama, papa, I just want to be anywhere but with you for a while, and don’t you worry, it’s just me and my cock and a lot of sun. I’m responsible!’ Now that’s love. You don’t get it’s about family. It’s always about family.

And so now where’d all that crazy love get you? Here. Washed up in the middle of the fucking desert. Never saw that coming when you decided to play explorer now did you? Never saw yourself in a cage, no.

But that’s what happens. Americans. You all think the ocean is just like everything else. Manifest Destiny. Some fat old man, he says it’s sea to shining sea but some point came around, and someone else came up and they said sea to shining sea damn well best include the seas themselves and look what happens. It’s one big fucking party!

That is, until you’re two hundred miles off shot, and the world’s all storms, and you’re huddled in the smell of your own piss on your knees praying oh God, oh God, for the sake of the stars and stripes and my fathers and my little semen children save me, I’m a good and faithful shit, and only when the water’s up over your head and the sun’s blotted out of your sky do you begin to finally realize real religion: if there’s a God, he’s one vindictive little shit, or he doesn’t wear a red, white and blue suit.

It’s not all about the shiny but—hey, you know, I like the shiny, so, it’s not all bad, yeah?

I think your friends probably learned that already too. When you hit the rocks, you know, you usually don’t die right away. It takes time. The blood runs out until you can’t move anymore, or the bones break and you can’t move anyway, and all you can do is take this time before the sun or the hunger kills you, wondering, just wondering: what about me? What about my life? Why did I have to be sliced open like a fish?

Wriggle, little man. It’s what fish do. And there’s only so long you can breathe out of water.

But it’s good you’re here, you know? That you let me find you. It’s good. Real good. Gives us time for lessons, see. And it gives me opportunities. There’s a lot of money in the pretty lilies, samaki. Real big. And it’s fun, you know? That’s what we’re gonna have. Real fun.

Now let’s get that gag in. It’s a long way and you stink, little fishy, and we wouldn’t want you to choke.

The Tiger

When the drums struck

the alarum was the force

of dark eyes bleeding through the shade—

the cold hangs from every leaf,

the brush and stroke teaching

every motion how to breed

claws appropriate to the man-shaped

trails carved into the wood

She parallels without red capes

some wanderer left to packs

shunned for pale skin thickened

behind world-inked fur—

the lines, if only they knew the lines

time had bundled to Her breast

holding in pieces of Her

as She bloodies Herself in details;

haggard is the fall

but sharp the tongue,

curled up the spine as She bends

low, low, savoring the texture

of the wild on Her paws—

low, low are the drums

to the primal song of Her.

Hollow March Ebook Giveaway!

Announcement time!

As many of you know, this weekend includes the day of Mothers, or at least the United States version. It also includes a lesser known holiday, much more compact and dedicated to many less shinies than the former: my birthday. While I’m not a big pusher of my own holiday bliss, it did seem a good time to take the opportunity for a giveaway, so here I am with writer’s cap in hand.

All weekend long, eBook copies of my fantasy novel, The Hollow March, will be free to anyone interested in revenge-filled, character-raging, backstabbing, magic-dealing (can you even handle that many qualifiers?) literary goodness. Copies can be picked up through Amazon, and with luck, if there’s some book love going on there, the lovers will kindly poke other lovers of fantasy, or some fantasy loving mothers, and so on and so forth, starting a chain reaction of poking that either overload and implodes Facebook (sorry Facebook), or puts a smile on one little writer’s face.

Need a reminder what it’s all about? Check out The Hollow March-dedicated page on the right side of the screen.

And if you need any gift ideas, I’ll let you in on a time-honored secret among writers: reviews are the best method to a fellow’s heart.

For those unclear, that would be this book.

Meanwhile, the first stage edits from my editor (For the sequel, At Faith’s End), are nearly all integrated now, and that just leaves a couple more beta readers and another round of editing (consequently, I’ll be seeing Mr. Hartley again this weekend), between my side of that literary venture and completion. Is it time to start thinking cover art once again? Most probably. Stay tuned.

There will probably another arms flailing reminder of the giveaway on Friday, but I’m told it’s good to plan ahead. And now I leave, as ever, at your mercy, oh gurus of the Internet.

Poetic Measurements

I may have mentioned earlier in the week that the poetic muse was striking me again (it has been some time since our last encounter). Perhaps it’s all the sun, perhaps it was the drama of nature’s power on display a few weeks ago, or simply life being in a sustainable position at the moment. It could also be the steady march the next novel’s taking to completion–got initial edits back from the editor a week or so back, and it has set my creative mind into a furious spiral of scribbles (or his own rather strikingly wonderful bits of poetry he shared with me at the time–mark my words, he’s going places). So much to do.

Regardless of the source though, a frenzy followed, and numerous works were penned this week. So it seemed only good and right to toss out a sample this weekend. Thus I give you the short “Poetic Measurements”…

Poetic Measurements

The weight of a poet

lies perched upon a strand of hair:

a breath could shudder out the shape of it

yet the light could scarcely lay it bare.

Its power crawls in shadow

a textured investigation of the fall

clinging fractions of humanity endow,

wriggling whispers beneath the mortal pall.

Secret Project Revealed!

Reblogged from :

Click to visit the original post

Secret Project Revealed!

Good morning, gentle viewers!

Oh, I'm so excited.

If you've been around these parts for a while, you'll remember a series of posts about SuperWomen. Ever since I was a kid, I longed to see female superheroes, but as we all know, they're rather thin on the ground. After my recent post about superhero clothing and the sexist attitudes toward women displayed by the creators, I got to thinking.

Read more… 332 more words

Building on the media buzz of women in geek culture, friend and fellow writer Emmie Mears has banded together with fellow SuperWomen editors to celebrate the role of women in geekdom... Geeks, Writers, Countrypeople, go check it out!