Winter: A Sonnet for your Saturday

Winter advances and claims my warm heart. Blood freezes the veins of my chilly limbs. Dead leaves pour into my bowl and their tart taste slips past my frozen lips, deftly skims over my rebelling stomach to fill The snowy void left by fall’s bitter end. Naked branches bend in the shrill wind’s chill Torpor consumes me, to sleep I bend, In its’ icy, breathless embrace I drift only to waken when white blossoms kiss my lashes. Lifeless to lithesome I shift, reviving to greet spring’s advancing bliss. I rise; the cloak of life I quickly don lest winter’s waning … Continue reading Winter: A Sonnet for your Saturday

Candy for Your Ears: Urban Fantasy

Me in a leather corset and boots

Urban fantasy audio books are like candy. You can’t consume just one. The first one always leads to the next and the next. It’s the gateway drug of audio books.

They’re the first person shooters of the fantasy genre. What makes these stories so addictive? Let’s toss them onto the operating table and dissect them to see what makes ’em tick.

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A Homeric Ode for Your Friday

Went with a Homeric ode for today’s assignment (rhyme scheme: Abab cdecde) and reworked a poem I wrote on a tour bus in Scotland in 2001 because it was so damned close to a Homeric ode. Figured I’d go the extra mile and push it over the edge into Homeric ode territory. I painted the accompanying picture in my very brief, artist stage. Enjoy! Riding through a painting where mountains sprawl and the heart of Scotland beats. Across fir-lined pelts, mists do crawl o’er humped back Scotland down to its streets. The sun kisses snowy peaks, whose tearful eyes lock forever … Continue reading A Homeric Ode for Your Friday

Red Queen versus White King: Alan Touring Through the Looking Glass

Unless you too just finished The Enigma: Alan Touring, you’re probably scratching your head right now at the title of today’s post. I did read it, and I’m still scratching my head over it. Before I attempt to make some sense out of this, because I will lose my mind if I don’t, I need to get one thing off my chest: If I die after having done something world-changing or just plain cool, do not compare me to a fairy tale character. Please, just don’t. I don’t care of I make some offhand remark  ONE time in my life and you … Continue reading Red Queen versus White King: Alan Touring Through the Looking Glass

A Grave Insect: Two Limericks for Thursday

graveA dash on a gravestone,
expresses how you’ve grown
A sister rendered into dates,
because death wouldn’t wait.
It left only her bones.

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Treat yourself to Book Writing 101 with a humous twist

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Ever wondered how to write a book? Wonder no more. Rands wrote a tongue in cheek blog post about the process: How to Write a Book. In his article, he advises:

Even better, stop thinking about writing a book. Your endless internal debate and self-conjured guilt about that book you haven’t written yet is a sensational waste of your time. My guess is if you took all the time that you’ve spent considering writing a book and translated that into actual writing time, you’d be a quarter of your way into writing that book you’re not writing.

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Deconstructing My Constructed Self

Deconstructing My Constructed Self He paints my face—olive—light, a gift from ancient ancestors. His strokes thick, quick, powder flies everywhere. He draws my lips–firm, first an outline, plumb, overlaid with a layer for shine, fine. Then my eyes–smoldering, brown–shadowed and still. Lined with deepest black, my lashes traced. Then the finishing touches—rouge–to unhide my cheekbones. I feel beautiful today. My face masked by paint to hide an empty pallet. The brush rises again—wavy locks cascade from its tip—then pull away, twisting upwards, to crown my painted face. Leaving only tendrils to fall, to touch, my soft powdered face. But the day is over now; the paint no longer needed. I … Continue reading Deconstructing My Constructed Self

Secrets Of The Sea Known Only By Her: An Acrostic

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Secrets of the Sea Known Only by Her

She sits by the water,
Eyes staring at the calm surface,
Cringing in the cold. She watched
Rings form in the clear depths.
Every ring brushed against
The waves, beating against the
Shores of her mind

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Some Haiku for You

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Rain falling softly
Children with yellow rain coats
Splashing in puddles

Dry grass crackling
Orange tongues of fire
Marshmallows melting

Flunking another quiz
The books I never opened
A red pen- grade fixed

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Laughs and an Outlet for your Writing

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Do you do any of these things? 
Camilla Marsh, writing for The Writing Cooperative, put together a list of quirks, anyone of which might apply to you. Here’s a sneak peak:

7. You’ve been known to taper off during a conversation, staring into oblivion, mouth slightly ajar, as your mind fills with an enthralling tale-to-be with characters yet-to-be named as your colleague’s fourth helping of stale office gossip falls unheard at your feet.

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User Experience Matters

Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

If you doubt this, come to my office where every little detail of a website is scrutinized. We’re not a big player in the web world. We don’t want to send our visitors screaming for the exit; we want them to come into our site and never leave. We are a black hole sucking you in. Spaghettification will begin soon…muahahahaha…..

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Fresh Perspective: What Photography Can Teach You About Writing

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Looking for a fresh perspective to start your week? Look no further. I’ve got one to offer.

What photography can teach you about writing

On the surface, photography and writing have little in common. If you dig a little deeper, the commonalities become plain. Photographers frame life with their camera lens and capture those images in pixels or film. Writer also frame life–be it every day reality or a slice from their fantasy world–in words. A photographer’s frame is the limit of his/her lens; A writer’s is his or her imagination. 

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Sound off: Advice from the Web

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While you relax and enjoy your well-deserved Sunday morning rituals, here’s some advice culled from the internet on a writing, creativity, motivation and process. While your sipping orange juice, some exotic tea, a coffee confection or plain old milk, let your mind consider these tidbits and store them away for future reference.

Here’s a new way to look at your writing from The New Yorker, a piece entitled, Omission: Choosing What to Leave out:

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Selling books and eBooks with a Dash of Inspiration

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A recent Publisher’s Weekly article, How To Succeed at Self-Publishing,  zeroed in on self-published author, Victorine Lieske. Her ebook romance, Not What She Seems, sold 150,000 copies and blew up the best seller lists. She talked to Publisher’s Weekly about the secret of her success.

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Hypocrite? Who me? Say it isn’t so!

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Yesterday I posted a rambling review of The Girl in the Spider’s WebSharp readers no doubt noticed at the end of the post that I contradicted myself. I talked about avoiding the fourth installment of the Millenium series initially just because Stieg Larsson, the series’ creator, passed on and a new author picked up the thread of the story.

I mentioned a thing called author loyalty. Then I ended the post speaking about Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s Mycroft Holmes and my enthusiasm for reading it. That got me thinking about the whole issue. How long does an author have to be dead before author loyalty erodes and readers flock in comfort to a new author’s continuation of the saga?

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