Journal

The transient nature of time itself is a wonderful poetry all its own. Lyrical melody that crawls into your brain through your ears and completely rearranges the ambient full-point of your brain. Leaves you trailing, yowling and wailing as you’re plunged deep into the fondant depths of depravity.

You go from a state of pure energy and goodness, a blank slate filled by the things around you. As time passes by you absorb the powerful rays and it drowns you in sound and light and FURY you cannot express in any kind of words. You die a little, only to be brought back–reborn!–from the vapor trail you left behind, the matter flexing and bending away, losing most of its solidity.

And thus you become adult, having shed most of the lightness and brightness of your younger years. In return you are imbued with the spongelike ability of absorbing ambient energy left behind by other stars. A sun alone, you twirl and burn, streamers of pyrotonic silk flaring out from your very being. A heartbeat pulsing against the backdrop of velvet night, twinkling and shining, birthing and dying.

To shed seedlings around yourself, each a little life all its own. Possibility wrapped up in a shell of fragility, cracking out of it to become just like you. Half your light, and half another, they echo what has come before.

You shed matter and energy, your light dimming before going out. A star dying in the heart of a man, you are nothing and no one, you fade into bliss.

And the universe is left a much lesser place.

Let's Make Dumplings at Amazon

I have a real problem with “show, don’t tell” when writing. I realize I do it, so I try to stop myself, but sometimes it just kind of gets away from me.

I blame Joss Whedon and what I think might have been the “Earshot” episode. That part where Buffy’s reading everyone’s mind, then she focuses on Oz and he’s just this deeper well of inner monologue. It made me laugh happily.

I’m completely enamored with the idea that someone has this entire inner world going on and all these sweeping thoughts. So while they explore every nook and cranny of an idea or feeling, when someone asks them a question, they’re just like “Yeah. I know.”

It’s kind of a flaw, but it’s kind of become my personal style too. I can already see it being polished up into a “Thing” and you can definitely see how it’s been honed with my writing. Take “Visions of Blood & and Shadow” and “Little Boy Blue,” then compare them to “Heroes & Villains” and “Echo.” There’s a definite maturation process going on, and it makes me pretty happy. I feel like a home brew–given time, I’ll become a tasty beer.

Someday I hope to be a good writer (I’m not egotistical enough to claim being a “great” one.) Sure, there’s some people that might say I’m pretty good right now, but I want to just keep getting better.

“We are all made of stars.”

An Elderly Lady is Up to No Good at Amazon
Fortress in the Eye of Time at Amazon