Saturday, November 5, 2016

Sanctuary

My love for you may stand before judgment, but indeed it does stand.

A river through mountains; a course set; a road forged.

My road.

One fallen long since dark, but that I am forsaken entitles me no grievance whatsoever, as from the moment I loved you I understood to my bones what I was chancing—which was, beyond all question, everything. A dark and empty road, twin chasm to that lingering space inside me. Where once resided that heart long given over, now barren save for tides of sorrow which ebb and flow beneath the aegis of each moon, each day, every day, each breath, every breath, for do I not love you as I breathe?

Still, I cannot curse the fates for this affliction. For how could I not give my heart to one who had so rescued and rekindled it, illuminated and awakened it, discovered and touched within it depths I never knew existed. And so you see, this story is not so much mine as yours, for even the darkness engulfing me is conspicuous for that light it is lacking. Your light.

And oh how you shine.

Not just that light in the darkness, but so too imbuing the light and love of the world, emboldening it, that it might proliferate and endure. The world falls in love with you, and I no different, and if I must suffer the slings and arrows of having permitted it then so be it, though I know not how I might have stayed it. I know not how I might stay it now. My love, my light, my heart given over wholly and beyond all reclaiming. My road, for which I’d not even been searching, set out irrevocably before me. That I have lost the love of my life at least bears witness to the salvation of having found her.

For you I have written more words, countless really, each betraying a faltering soul, than you shall ever know. Every. Single. Day. My heart’s articulation, breathed out silent and unrequited into the fathomless void. So easily did our hands used to find the other, when we walked together, and I cared not what road I traveled so long as I did so with you. And now those ropes of steel you once said bound us have been dropped but if I retain one ambition it is to remind you I have not and shall never, stood down from my post, and should you ever pass this way again you need only reach out your hand to find mine outstretched for it, for you, arms open, as ever they have been, as ever shall they be.

My road is my road is my road but for you, should the day ever come, your sanctuary. A light left on. Your safe harbor, where ‘till the end of my days may you find acceptance, support and love unconditional. Where you may find a friend. For as long as you need, or even for a moment, for you must know I reach to you only in love, not requirement. You need only reach back through the darkness to find me, for never, truly, have I left. I pray your days be filled with light but here may you find a light in the darkness, should it ever befall you, and even as mine pales against the radiance of your own.

Until then, and even should the day never come, I’ll be here, thinking of you, missing you, loving you and wishing with everything I have left for your happiness and fulfillment. Smiling even here in the darkness at your light. It burns so brightly within you, lights the way for so many. It is your burden and your gift, the world is brighter for it, and may it serve you well along your way.

Shine on, sweet girl.





               



Tuesday, November 1, 2016

What's in a Word(or 500)?

Honored my microfiction tale got 2nd place for this esteemed site. 500 word limit, post-apocalyptic theme. Also if you click on Featured Authors there's a piece on me. Hope you enjoy, and as always thanks for your support!

PS would love your thoughts on micro/flash fiction. Enjoy writing it? Reading it?

https://amidtheimaginary.wordpress.com/2016/11/01/2016-micro-fiction-contest-2nd-place-winner/

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

A Writer's Soul

Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”
—Virginia Woolf

I tend with each passing day to believe this.

All those facets to storytelling—to writing—plot, characterization, description, theme….all but variations on the explication of one’s heart and soul. No matter the form—novel, short story, poem—even the musings of a blog like this—all at its essence some manner of veracity Even in a work of fiction—maybe especially then.

My words my truth, do you remember the first day I opened these pages of my soul to your searching eyes? Those eyes and this story so brimming with possibility and hope. I want you to know, dear reader, that those words I professed then--those truths--remain  true to this day--like any story even if it be forsaken, its pages unopened and collecting dust, do not its words once written, endure?

One year in high school, submissions were solicited for a time capsule, summative and representative words which would in 50 maybe 'twas 100 years' time be opened to reveal to whosever eyes clues about what things were like at our school all those decades previous. Mine was chosen. Things doubtless changed there in all that time, people I knew doubtless changed but my words so preserved, resolute and fixed. 

So too here my clues to you, dear reader, and yes I do mean you. If you shall read this no matter just when, know I am  speaking unequivocally to you. Those words  set down as a promise those years ago. Once written, inviolate, for the deepest truths adhere no revision but only ingrain more indelibly upon the page. Those words my story, my story my truth, and for you, for those eyes to fall once more upon them, do they await, dear reader, and only for you, no matter the years and occurrences between. Open the pages, love, dust them off, should ever you sojourn this way again. You shall find in them no hint of recrimination for your absence, they shall open willingly and lovingly to your touch. A story resuming, for its words, its truth, its promise, has known no end~



Monday, September 26, 2016

Why....


“A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it.” – Roald Dahl

There is no shortage of eloquent wisdom from some of our greatest scribes on why they write, and for whom. I've been asked it; I think every writer has. It can be as vexing as those damnable query letters: you just penned 100K wonderful words, but  how in God's name to sum it up nicely in just a few.

It's at once the hardest and easiest thing to answer, though I do very much like what Mr. Dahl had to say on the matter. I could cite 101 reasons if I could cite one. Increasingly, it's like being asked why I breathe. I write, because I am. And just maybe vice-versa. All I know is, when I'm writing I feel I'm doing what I'm meant to do, and when I'm not writing I so often feel I should be.

And that question of, for whom. Ask not, Ernest? Alas, I'm asking. The quick and easy is that we write for ourselves. I think that's almost always true to some degree. But whom, and what else? There have been a few who toil away with no intention of exposing their words to any eyes beyond their own, but most of us want to be read, heard, felt, understood. And if someone will pay to do it, better yet. 😉

Perhaps we write for the audiences of our chosen genre; if we want to sell books, we surely better. But that's author stuff, and yeah, most of us want to be published authors. I speak here of something a little more visceral--of that soul of a writer, that blood imperative that compels us beseeching to the page like so many wolves baying to the moon. That the world may hear us. Or at least some may. It is perhaps our message in a bottle, our Cryptograph of secret messages, heard uniquely by each soul, intended for millions or even just one. A brother; a friend; a kindred reader we'll never know. A sweet girl for whom your heart still beats.  Here I stand, these, my words, my truth. My story begins and ends with you. A hand outstretched.

Whatever your reasons, they are the right ones. As always, thank you.  Read on, and of course, write on.

Until next time~




Thursday, September 15, 2016

This Just In...

Just learned I got second place in a microfiction contest for this cool site. I like writing micro(or flash) fiction, and have not only written it but written about writing it. The story will be published on their blog and I get to be featured author for a month and plug David Rose. More info when I have it, but was pleased and grateful for this news.


Never Say Never: Challenging Some of our Sacred Literary "Rules"

Honored that ProBlogger has published another of my posts, this one on some of those sacred writing "rules" which can prove so vexing. I much enjoyed writing and researching this one, which included connecting with cartoonist R.E. Parrish and legendary linguist Stephen Pinker.

I hope you enjoy and as always, I welcome your feedback!

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Write On...

Greetings friends,

Been a little while so I thought I'd check in. I hope this finds you well. (Well, you're reading this, so it did find you, at least. )

The end of my 3-mo. exclusive placement on KDP select is nigh, and I expect in near future to announce on what additional platforms The Awakening of David Rose may be found. It has garnered some nice reviews but we always need more, so, if you have read it or may read it and would be willing to post an honest review(and perhaps ask a few friends to consider the same), I'd be mighty obliged!

 Meanwhile, I am about 3/4 done with a draft of a literary suspense manuscript I am jazzed about, called Cucariva. Hope to be getting it to some betas quite soon here. While the betas have that, I intend to dive into D Rose II: David Rose & the Forbideen Tournament. About 4 chapters in on that one...

And of course, a writer is nothing if not a reader, and most recently I have read Mcarthy's Suttree, Elmore Leonard's Valdez is Coming, and today am picking up Doctorow's Billy Bathgate.

What about you? What are you reading? Writing? Contemplating?

Thanks as always for your support. Talk soon~