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Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Leaves Are Burning

I like to be sad.

Leaves are burning in someone's backyard and it smells like sadness, and that makes me happy.

I have less than 15 days before everything changes and I don't think I could be more excited about it. The last five months I have tapped into a well of creativity I wasn't aware I had, strange creativity, not for storytelling or words or sentences, but for bigger ideas and businesses and means to ends. It feels very good to know that I am not just a one-trick pony, that there is something else inside of me that can grow and prosper and exhale into the world.

I'm working on rewriting my first novel Godspeed, You Black Emperor, which you can read a little of if you click on the title in the right sidebar of this blog. I think it is pretty good, now that I'm beating the immature out of it. I was a very different writer four years ago. The skeleton is good; it's the meat that's rotted, needs to be cut out and replaced with sturdier, HGH-free meat. I have that meat in my brain and I'm applying it to the skeleton and soon I will have a full-scale model of a novel to shop around. Maybe having two novels out there will double my chances of becoming a hugely successful fiction author, one who looks pensive and concerned and a little mysterious on his dust jacket promotional head shots.

I am going to grow out my beard longer than I've ever grown out my beard. I also think that I might grow out my hair again. I used to look like a young Willie Nelson, only waaaaay hotter. Totally. Now I just look like Right Now Willie Nelson, but without the braids and necklaces. It's a little depressing actually.

But I like to be sad.

And the leaves are burning and the air is just a little bit cold at the edges. Tuck yourself in at night. Struggle to get up in the morning because your bed is just so warm. Hear the howling of the tea kettle. Hear the soft breathing of your child in the next room. Pull the covers tight again. Sleep 'til summer.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Publication is mine! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

The lovely people at Pseudopod decided that my warm and fuzzy tale of murder and family loyalty, "A Murder of Crows," was fit for publication in this month's podcast. You can't read this one: you just gotta listen, but Malcolm Charles reads the story in a southern drawl that gives the story a completely different context than I'd imagined when I wrote it. Interesting stuff. I suppose this constitutes my first Southern Gothic tale, then.

You can check out the story here.