First Two? Pages? – Edit 1

June 21

Red cedar, Douglas fir and the whippy limbs of cherry trees lined the highways David was used to, blackberry bramble piled and tangled around everything, visual barriers and wind breaks under nearly constant rain. That was not where his mother brought him now. The Camry was not designed for the rugged maneuvering on this pitted, rutted, unpaved road. Her grip was white-knuckled and she sat forward so her chin was above the steering wheel, but the tight line of her mouth never split to voice uncertainty or anxiety.

Oak and maple spread endlessly in every direction, thick trunks and coarse bark. Scattered white pine in straight columns mixed needles in the leaves. They could rarely see more than a hundred yards ahead or backward before another twist of the road, and when the unclouded sun broke through the dense canopy the contrast blinded. The edges long ago washed away and bared roots, grass and fern crowded in on the open ground and sunlight.

Shadowed: A Short

I have been skimming through and organizing notebooks and old bits of writing. I liked this one, and it will be folded into a character’s backstory.

Title: Shadowed

Elise heard her mother calling from downstairs. Eyes thick and blurred, she shoved aside clinging covers and stumbled across the room. She might have tumbled straight down the stairs, but bony fingers grasped her shoulders and dragged her back. By habit, Elise clamped her mouth shut instead of screaming. Her grandmother smelled of lavender and sour alcohol and whispered to her ear, “I hear it, too.”

Her voice so close to Elise woke her properly and she knew her mother was dead. They stared together down the unlit stairs, waiting.

First Two Pages(?)

04/2021 Update

I have read through all the content on this blog in the last couple of days, primarily adding links, cleaning up typographical errors, and despite strongly desiring to actually edit a lot of the content, only removed a word or two that I just couldn’t leave alone. It’s meant to stand as archive and evidence of evolution.

At the beginning of March I completed a new draft of Sun Warm Stone, a varied title from what it was before, and still standing as the narrative I’ve completed more than any other. I’m satisfied enough to go forward editing, revising, editing and releasing it, at this point. Yay, I’m going to be an author! Although I think I will fire off a few query letters to agents or publishers, research pending, I’m strongly confident that Sun Warm Stone is going to be too challenging for any traditional publisher to be willing to take on, so my trajectory is for self-publication. Lots and lots of legal and building research going on right now.

The blog is cleaned up, I have other social media to create—as of today, I do not have a Twitter, Instagram, SnapChat or most other popular platform for reaching an audience. I’m working on it. Check back for updates, the barren last couple of years are going to be left behind!

*array

Day One

Red cedar, Douglas fir and the whippy limbs of cherry trees lined the highways David was used to. Weeds, undergrowth and bramble piled and tangled around slim trunks, visual barriers and wind breaks. Green ways and nature centers with dirt or gravel footpaths, muffling some human noise. Sunlight filtered through pollution and  mixed canopies of leaves and needles.

That was not where his mother brought him now. Her Camry was not designed for the rugged maneuvering on the pitted, rutted, unpaved road. Clara’s grip was white-knuckled and she sat forward so her chin was above the steering wheel, but the tight line of her mouth never split to voice uncertainty or anxiety.

Three Years Later

This post follows This post.

 

Abbreviated Manifesto

 

Crumple this up, don’t read it
If you don’t want to know.
I was never going to be enough,
I was never going to be perfect.

Zyla and the Sorrow

A new project, barely proofed, WIP. Fantasy fiction.

Zyla and the Sorrow

Life had become soft, anyway. Zyla woke by habit, first birds singing and no other exceptional noise in the deep breath of the day. Not thirsty or empty, she stretched the length of her limbs after leaving the covers of her bed.

Then the sharp rap against the door. Every alert instinct snapped, and Zyla knew the soft waiting would be over. She answered the door calmly.

“Port Protector summons you, Wallsman,” the youth had to step back and tip his head to look at her face. He was sweating and pale, sleepless bruises showing in the dim glow from the moon.

A Leap Day

A diary style entry. Briefly. A leap day.

Another year, don’t really know how much time has passed. I created this blog in the first place to concentrate the exposure of my creative output. I must claim control of my life and writing in a new way. New for me, not strictly original. After all, I cannot be the first blogger, first dreamer, first failure, at this point.

A Whack Dream About Pancakes

A Whack Dream About Pancakes

 

Pancakes have been on my mind for a couple of weeks, because I had eggs, but not a lot of eggs, and I’m really not a lover of cooking. There’s a process and clean-up that go hand in hand. Scrambled eggs are more protein, less carbs and way simpler process and clean-up than pancakes.

A Year Later

Finished filling a journal today. Picked up another I knew had a few used pages. Found three scraps tucked in the back from last summer. A flight itinerary, a time sheet, a page of yellow legal pad.

Copyright note, there are some lyrics of Nahko and Medicine for the People slipped in the second part, “Wash It Away.”

Take a Walk

Take a walk on the beach
Take a walk at the cliff

Charge: 2017

First blog of a New Year, new hopes, ambitions and intentions. First blog ever transcribed to my phone.

Title: Waxing

I’m laughing too hard to answer, as he takes in his left hand the leather journal I brought from Basel. He can see half of the five point star embossed in the center of the journal and framed by an intricacy of knotwork, bound shut by two leather strings.

Modge Podge riff

Title: Modge Podge

My desk is meant to be inspiring, reminding. Germany was the same, but cleaner. Spent too much time indoors on Skype, YouTube.  But writing voraciously. Across the long top drawer is the room I had, and next to that the City Hall, Rathaus, of Hanover. In the middle are masts in the bay at Kiel.