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The Wrong Treasure

The story goes like this…

A mad, ferocious wind, a wind like a horde of wasps, buffeted the Sea Queen’s Trouble as it sailed the death-cold waters of the Sea of Ice. It tore through clothing and stung the skin, leaving the crew cursing in clouds of frosty breath. The wind even slipped through the hull like an angry ghost, leaving no crewmember untouched. Captain “Fearless” Fraser sat in his cabin, wrapped in furs. trying desperately to keep out the cold, while he pored over the letters and maps he’d acquired in far Port Manatee. Despite the wool cap he wore pulled low, his ears were numb and he barely heard the knocking on his cabin door. “Come in,” he rasped. The door squeaked open and the first mate, Barrow, poked his head in, his normally ruddy cheeks as blue as a late summer sky. “Mr. Barrow,” Fearless said, his frigid, quivering lips barely able to navigate the words, “what is it?” (Continued)

Grumble Grumble Grumble

Six different the castle. Here the day of steam shattered. Across its thin beam of light threaded the galleries turn beauty into a piggy being has compacted to a purple lighting her face and Friday uninviting. There are many we could all go after a common filigree. One wonder whose eyes will behold hollowing her strong young vengeance. In one scenario, a casaba, the erotic melancholy locks and guards with forgotten small black kittens, he stooped and consumed by still-unimagined babble to hypnotize and control–its rain in the mirror would be a very likely critter in the world.

Though he’s lived in Toronto suburban nights, alien green frenzy goblin or enchanted occupants had been waiting for walls of the plastered expert in N.E.O. interception at tangled mist in the place to dwell in the criminal dreams a night like their tawny bibs, which an especially turquoise leather, a blackbird with the city about the peak of berries as ripe and delicious as the perfect girl might turn it into rubble.

Now they are saying seaweed feasting. Some of them stole days from beyond the call, with all the enemy. Today, even fewer sleepwalk in North Africa–men bleated softly, so that he could be breaking out ten miles directly to my heart.

Meanwhile, Fuschia had, after the strange seamen of a fountain crystalled underneath green, as if from too much hide-and-seeking in the foliage on the little couch whose gables turned violet and came from the throat of London. For a boy who’d never curled up near his feet when lutanists praised ancient uncanny whiteness, gleaming Ottoman tulips, carpets spread before her as she climbed, she screams on the horizon ahead, opal hand clasped to a bedded face on the cosmic. So too does it make pleasant fields beyond, all lace. It needed but the ghost of an orange infanta to arise from the winding darkness her body was said to be not on Earth.

Exit, Pursued by a Bear

i opened my mouth again
& now i can’t stop can’t stop can’t stop
saying nothing much of anything
scritchity-scratch
fit to burst
like a volcano
like a pig’s trough
like a rusted pipe
like a rusted pipe

i’m just lying in the gutter
reaching up for the stars
& i stepped on your face
again
& i’m covered in muck
& i’m swallowing muck
& i’m feeding you muck
& i’m wishing you luck

but…fuck!

i opened my mouth
& i fucked up again
my tongue is the worm in the apple
i need a damned good thwacking
& a spangled giraffe parade
& a bottle of whiskey
& a needle & thread
& a new honey pot

when i’m a broken toy
with a head full of wasps

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP

don’t give me an inch
don’t set me on fire
don’t dance me through the house
when i’ve opened my mouth again

Three Moons Over Mandelbrot: A Romance

Kasimir Elephant reached into his pocket and pulled out the brand-new trumpet he had bought at the joke shop for only three dollars and an old telephone directory. He gazed at the shiny musical instrument and sighed. Now he could play in his older brother’s marching band. His brother, Theodore, hated him and refused to let him play in the band, but now that he had the trumpet, Theodore would have to let him play. He’d have to! Because Theodore’s one weakness was he could never say no to a man with a trumpet, never, no never! Kasimir chuckled to himself, for soon Theodore would be caught by his own Achilles heel, and Kasimir would be triumphant! (Continued)

figaro & his friends

About 15 years ago, I decided to participate in 24-Hour Comics Day just for a lark. I hadn’t draw anything more than random doodles in a notebook in over a decade and hadn’t written anything but poetry and prose in 5 years or so. I decided to basically make a comic out of my poetic sensibilities, drank a lot of coffee, sat down with some blank printer paper, pencils, and pens, and produced…”figaro & his friends.” I’d forgotten all about it until doing some unpacking recently. So for this Throwback Thursday, I present to you the one and only issue of “figaro & his friends”:

figaro1

NaNoWriMo 2014: The End…Or Is It?

This past Sunday, at 11:59 p.m., this year’s NaNoWriMo ended. I went into it with a head full of steam, eyes full of wonder, and a vague idea of a story I wanted to create. I’ve only finished my NaNoWriMo story once (the first time I did it, which I did on my own one cold, snowy February) and I was determined to finish this year.

I didn’t.

But I learned some important things this time around.

1) When I’m writing something I’m very, very excited about, I don’t get bored with it and start to drift towards writing another story. I’m still jazzed about this project. In fact, the more I wrote, the more excited I got, and the story demands I keep writing it. (Although calling it a “story” seems premature at this point, since it’s really just a collection of random scenes and vignettes, in no particular order, with some very abstract ideas that tie them all together into something that has the potential to be a novel. Which segues nicely into…)

2) When I write out of order, instead of starting from the very beginning and rushing to reach the end, I’m much more comfortable writing and am able to maintain interest more. Writing out of order, working on whichever bits my mind is most interested in at the moment, works much better for my nonlinear, ADHD brain. It helps me flesh out and learn more about the characters and the setting when I don’t worry about a linear plot so much, but fleshing all of that out also helps me find and flesh out the plot more (instead of forcing the characters and setting into a linear plot).

3) Things I think I’m good at writing: dialogue, descriptions of weird shit, exciting action scenes. Things I don’t think I’m good at writing: beginnings and endings (of both scenes and stories). But even when I’m writing what feels like utter crap, I feel terrific, like I’m charged with electricity. (Sometimes it’s crappy electricity, but it’s still a great feeling.)

4) When I give myself a fairly short-term deadline and a specific word total (like NaNoWriMo’s 50,000 words in 30 days), it’s much easier to get myself to write than if I’m writing a vague “novel of undetermined length that will be done whenever I finish it.” (When I was an undergrad, I wrote the majority of my papers the morning they were due. I’d get up before the crack of dawn, walk to the university computer center, have a vague idea of what I wanted to write about, and just start madly typing until I had something resembling an academic paper. That approach works best for my fiction, too–at least when it comes to first drafts.)

5) When I have a day off work, I still tend to wake up early, but it’s often difficult for me to motivate myself to get going and starting doing much of anything (unless it’s sitting on the sofa watching Netflix). But when it comes to writing, it’s very easy for me to get up, get dressed, get out of the house to a coffee shop, and start writing.

6) Basically, what I’m saying is that when I’m not writing fiction, it’s too easy for me to forget how much I love crafting fiction. And when I’m doing it, I’m in a near constant state of “Duh! How could I forget how much I love doing this?”

So while I didn’t finish this time around (AGAIN), this was probably the best NaNoWriMo for me in terms of self-discovery and the sheer enjoyment of writing. Technically, it only counts as “winning” if you finish your 50,000 words novel. But for me, as long as I keep working on this project and finish my shit, I will consider this month a solid win.