The Hollow March Anniversary Photoshoot

Yes, you read that right. This frigid little month marks the fourth anniversary of The Hollow March‘s debut, and for that, I decided to have a little fun (AKA be a dork and play with sharp, pointy things). For those of you lurking about Facebook and Twitter, of course, this will come as no surprise, but yesterday I garbed up and got medieval on the Internet, essentially cosplaying as one of my novels’ main characters, Rurik Matair.

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The results were filled with grim shadowplay, filters, and were ruddy mysterious, but had the added advantage of a fancy hat and a scimitar. I would like to have kept both, but alas, neither was within my photographer’s purview to grant (woe is me).

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It has been a long, strange ride friends. In these four years I have not only seen birthed a series I had been dreaming up for the better part of a decade, but concluded it as well. Three books in four years; not too shabby for someone still fending off the latter half of their twenties, wouldn’t you say?

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Like the silliness? Want more? Want to dress up, too, or have great cosplays from other literature to share? Pop your thoughts and links into the comments, and share around. It’s an anniversary, after all, and that means it’s time for a party.

And for those of you that have stumbled across this site for the first time, and for whom this is their first introduction to me: where have you been? Here’s the link to my books, so you know who I am: http://www.amazon.com/Chris-Galford/e/B007A9XDXK/

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Crass Costumes Dreams Wore

Deep down in the marrow of costumed bone

lies the lonely bastion where hope might roam

 

she cloaks herself in mercy’s skin,

constructing strength, as warmth, from within

 

scores the walls to scale the rain

before the river dries within the drain

 

hips akimbo, straddling the lands

once stoked and carved by swaying hands—

 

it’s more than stubborn brow,

it’s something less than the weight of a farmer’s plough;

 

yet prisoners don it day by day

with gloved flesh, lest humanity wash away.

Masked Longing

And here it is,

this lonely longing,

for time and place unseen,

unheard, mayhaps unknown,

a future or a past that neverwere,

in Ghouls and Goblins fair,

these Ghosts of Pasts our blood

have never seen,

this laughter, in a sweet

wrapping up the joys of childhood

into a chocolate wrapper, knowing

the eyes, not the face

its monstrous mask a momentary

Madness answered in a thousand faces,

the spirits channeled through the joy

of laughter in the chill,

these golden lives pirouetting to

the Pumpkin Song, all hail

Imagination,

Master and Commander

of mind’s most curious Desires.

* Another poem for the wonderful Monday Poetry Potluck, as hosted by Jingle Poetry, and those lovely poets Amanda and Kavita!