Friday, September 23, 2016
Fog on the Moon
I remember twelve moons, each brighter than that first one shrouded in fog.
Each a reminder of brilliance reflected
Light bent but never claimed,
Cherished but never truly known.
The moon never belonged to me until I shared it with another.
The other I will never have but will ever pine for,
A lonely wolf howling in the cold,
With not but a plume of steam to show that I exist,
Shimmering in our light.
Our cycle is as fixed as the moon
As constant in its path
In the ebb and flow of light
We're a spark in the dark
Brilliant and burning,
Always to go dim to be lit again.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Tattered Ribbons
It cuts deep,
Slicing away ribbons of self.
It runs deep,
In the marrow of my bones.
There is no part of me that is mine.
I give it all to you just to feel alive.
There is nothing of you that is mine,
But I feel each part of you like a phantom limb.
I'm ground beneath the mill,
As meal for another day.
I grind away at my worth,
To give joy to others.
If ever you come to me I fear there will be nothing left but tatters of a man best forgotten.
Slicing away ribbons of self.
It runs deep,
In the marrow of my bones.
There is no part of me that is mine.
I give it all to you just to feel alive.
There is nothing of you that is mine,
But I feel each part of you like a phantom limb.
I'm ground beneath the mill,
As meal for another day.
I grind away at my worth,
To give joy to others.
If ever you come to me I fear there will be nothing left but tatters of a man best forgotten.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Craving and Cruelty
There is no way to let go when all my heart and soul holds you. I've wrapped my being around yours, a shield against all ills, the walls of our pocket dimension. It's all a ruse to keep you here with me, in me, a part of me kept all to myself. My selfishness knows no bounds nor to the lengths I will stretch to bind you to me. Love makes me cruel in my craving for your everything. Longing for us, belonging to nothing and nowhere without you.
I dream of a giant tree in the center of the wood where we can be and see, feel and believe that all this has not be in vain; a place for my silver goddess who wrought my return to something resembling humanity.
I dream of a giant tree in the center of the wood where we can be and see, feel and believe that all this has not be in vain; a place for my silver goddess who wrought my return to something resembling humanity.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Quick update and erotica sample
Over the last couple weeks I've been hard at work marketing for a friend's book cover design business, of which I own a partial stake. If you follow me on Twitter you've likely seen me ranting about bad indie covers. bleh
BUT I've also been working on two writing projects. One I mentioned last time, which is a Fantasy Romance novel that really doesn't mind to get down and dirty when the timing is right in the story. So, it's not erotica per se but I hope to make some seats wet or pants tight, depending on my audience. The other is pretty raw erotica but nestled firmly in a supernatural horror story. I worked on both yesterday and both had me pretty turned on so I hope they are as enjoyable for others to read.
I decided to give a little taste here on the blog. This first story is called Tainted Lust.
The music thrummed through everything in the night club, some pop remix that made Clara wonder what really was the difference between techno and dubstep.
“What a bastard,” said Clara. “Trust me, and I speak from experience honey, there are no men worth even an ounce of your tears.”
“She’s right,” said Neil. “We’re all shit.”
Tiffany smiled and even chuckled a bit at that.
“You are,” she said. “All of you, shit.” She laughed again.
“There. See? You are so pretty when you smile. Isn’t she pretty, Neil?”
The other didn’t reply until Clara elbowed him sharply.
“What? Oh yes, she’s fucking gorgeous. I was so entranced I forgot my own name,” said Neil.
Clara cast him a sharp sideways glance, then reached across the table and put her hands on top of Tiffany’s on the table. They were so warm and soft. Just touching her sent chills through her own body.
She likes to play innocent. She likes to be told what to do and how to do it and when her will seems completely broken, she’ll switch. She is a switch. A bottom for the intro, and one hell of a top to finish.
When Tiffany didn’t pull away Clara took this as a good sign.
“Neil, why don’t you get our beautiful friend another drink?”
Neil stood next to the table. “And would you like anything, my love?”
“I’m working on it,” she said with her most devilish smile.
Even after all these years, it was hard for her not to watch him go. He was tall, with dark, well trimmed hair, broad shoulders, and beneath his clothes, rippling muscles that could make any woman’s mouth water, as well as some men, and even other things.
“You’re both very sweet,” said Tiffany. Tears welled up in her eyes again.
“Now don’t dive back into the misery, sweetie,” said Clara, getting up to move around the table to slide in next to the young blonde woman. She felt their hips press together. She put her arm around Tifanny and pulled her head to the nape of her neck. Tiffany’s cheek rested against her collarbone with only a thin strap of material between them. The girl would be able to see her cleavage clearly, her perfume intoxicating her.
Clara slid her hand slowly up and down Tiffany’s side taking a moment to dance her fingertips over the girl’s ribs before sliding down past the edge of her tank top to silky skin just above the jut of her hip.
Not ticklish, she thought.
“You have to realize that there are few people in this world that really matter in the whole of your life. Right now, Derrick is the most important thing in the world, but he’s just a bright flash that has burned your vision and will fade soon enough.”
Clara caressed small circles on Tiffany’s stomach, each growing a little wider, a little bolder.
“There is a very good way to forget about a man, darling.”
Tiffany started to raise her head, but then stopped herself and nestled back into Clara’s neck, nuzzling her softly. She was sure the young woman’s lips even grazed her collarbone. It set her skin on fire and sent electric surges through her body that all seemed to coalless between her thighs.
Clara’s fingers brushed Tiffany’s naval and she could feel the young woman’s breath catch in her throat. She fondled the simple stud that transfixed her flesh.
“You just have to stop thinking,” Clara whispered into her ear. She moved the hair from around the girl’s ear with her opposite hand and then breathed long, slow, and hot into Tiffany’s ear, letting the throaty sound draw out. And then she slid her business hand downward, over the girl’s skin tight yoga pants. Her middle finger led the charge, following the contours of Tiffany’s flesh, to the cleft between her thighs.
The girl stiffened. Were she the type to pull away, it would be now, but Clara knew her better than that. To prove her power of the other woman, Clara took the lobe of Tiffany’s ear between her teeth, not biting hard, but enough to show that she was claiming this flesh for her own. She released a small amount of the pressure and let her tongue tease the too perfect skin of her prey’s ear.
“I can make you feel things no one else ever dreamed possible.”
Her middle finger began to rub in tiny circles over Tiffany’s clit. Though she couldn’t feel the girl’s bud through the material, the movement of her hips proved Clara’s sense of touch very accurate. Clara then slid her finger down the young woman’s slit and pushed, letting her finger pulse there as if trying to gain entrance. It was seconds before she was rewarded with a hot wetness through the fabric of Tiffany’s tights.
“Another Manhattan,” said Neil setting the drink in front of them. “And a Bloody Mary for my Valentine.”
Tiffany sat up quickly and pull away from Clara enough to force her hand back to the girl’s waist. Clara did not let go. She was staring up at Neil who just stood there with the most devilishly handsome grin she’d ever seen.
“Welcome back, my love.”
He didn’t respond.
Her eyes moved down his body to the bulge that was still growing in his pants.
“See, sweetie,” Clara said to Tiffany. “You are the most alluring thing in this room. I see it. Neil sees it. And look,” she said as she reached out to caress her lover’s cock through his jeans, “this monster right here sees it.”
“Oh,” was all Tiffany could manage.
“Sit down, honey, before you bust your zipper.”
Neil sat but smiled across the table at the two women.
“It’s fine. I’m not shy.”
Clara slid closer to her prey again, this time, slipping her hand beneath the girl’s waist band, down and down and under the edge of her panties. Clara stiffened again but still did not pull away.
“Let go, sweetie. Let go of Derrick. Let go of fear and doubt. Stop thinking and start feeling,” she said as she retraced the steps to the girl’s now uncovered and unsheathed clit. “Let me help you.”
With those words she pressed down on Tiffany’s clit, hard at first causing her to jump, then lightly, making those same tiny circles. Tiffany opened her mouth to gasp, but Clara moved in and captured her mouth with her own, her tongue swirling and lashing about like the tail of a rattle snake. The feel of the young woman’s moans inside her own mouth made Clara squeeze her own thighs tightly together relishing the ache she already felt.
BUT I've also been working on two writing projects. One I mentioned last time, which is a Fantasy Romance novel that really doesn't mind to get down and dirty when the timing is right in the story. So, it's not erotica per se but I hope to make some seats wet or pants tight, depending on my audience. The other is pretty raw erotica but nestled firmly in a supernatural horror story. I worked on both yesterday and both had me pretty turned on so I hope they are as enjoyable for others to read.
I decided to give a little taste here on the blog. This first story is called Tainted Lust.
Tears and mascara stained her otherwise perfect face. Tiffany looked up at Clara and Neil where they sat across the table from her, her eyes a blue gray, round and innocent. A spiral curled, blonde lock lay over one eye in a way that made Clara want to move it gently away… with her teeth.
The music thrummed through everything in the night club, some pop remix that made Clara wonder what really was the difference between techno and dubstep.
“What a bastard,” said Clara. “Trust me, and I speak from experience honey, there are no men worth even an ounce of your tears.”
“She’s right,” said Neil. “We’re all shit.”
Tiffany smiled and even chuckled a bit at that.
“You are,” she said. “All of you, shit.” She laughed again.
“There. See? You are so pretty when you smile. Isn’t she pretty, Neil?”
The other didn’t reply until Clara elbowed him sharply.
“What? Oh yes, she’s fucking gorgeous. I was so entranced I forgot my own name,” said Neil.
Clara cast him a sharp sideways glance, then reached across the table and put her hands on top of Tiffany’s on the table. They were so warm and soft. Just touching her sent chills through her own body.
She likes to play innocent. She likes to be told what to do and how to do it and when her will seems completely broken, she’ll switch. She is a switch. A bottom for the intro, and one hell of a top to finish.
When Tiffany didn’t pull away Clara took this as a good sign.
“Neil, why don’t you get our beautiful friend another drink?”
Neil stood next to the table. “And would you like anything, my love?”
“I’m working on it,” she said with her most devilish smile.
Even after all these years, it was hard for her not to watch him go. He was tall, with dark, well trimmed hair, broad shoulders, and beneath his clothes, rippling muscles that could make any woman’s mouth water, as well as some men, and even other things.
“You’re both very sweet,” said Tiffany. Tears welled up in her eyes again.
“Now don’t dive back into the misery, sweetie,” said Clara, getting up to move around the table to slide in next to the young blonde woman. She felt their hips press together. She put her arm around Tifanny and pulled her head to the nape of her neck. Tiffany’s cheek rested against her collarbone with only a thin strap of material between them. The girl would be able to see her cleavage clearly, her perfume intoxicating her.
Clara slid her hand slowly up and down Tiffany’s side taking a moment to dance her fingertips over the girl’s ribs before sliding down past the edge of her tank top to silky skin just above the jut of her hip.
Not ticklish, she thought.
“You have to realize that there are few people in this world that really matter in the whole of your life. Right now, Derrick is the most important thing in the world, but he’s just a bright flash that has burned your vision and will fade soon enough.”
Clara caressed small circles on Tiffany’s stomach, each growing a little wider, a little bolder.
“There is a very good way to forget about a man, darling.”
Tiffany started to raise her head, but then stopped herself and nestled back into Clara’s neck, nuzzling her softly. She was sure the young woman’s lips even grazed her collarbone. It set her skin on fire and sent electric surges through her body that all seemed to coalless between her thighs.
Clara’s fingers brushed Tiffany’s naval and she could feel the young woman’s breath catch in her throat. She fondled the simple stud that transfixed her flesh.
“You just have to stop thinking,” Clara whispered into her ear. She moved the hair from around the girl’s ear with her opposite hand and then breathed long, slow, and hot into Tiffany’s ear, letting the throaty sound draw out. And then she slid her business hand downward, over the girl’s skin tight yoga pants. Her middle finger led the charge, following the contours of Tiffany’s flesh, to the cleft between her thighs.
The girl stiffened. Were she the type to pull away, it would be now, but Clara knew her better than that. To prove her power of the other woman, Clara took the lobe of Tiffany’s ear between her teeth, not biting hard, but enough to show that she was claiming this flesh for her own. She released a small amount of the pressure and let her tongue tease the too perfect skin of her prey’s ear.
“I can make you feel things no one else ever dreamed possible.”
Her middle finger began to rub in tiny circles over Tiffany’s clit. Though she couldn’t feel the girl’s bud through the material, the movement of her hips proved Clara’s sense of touch very accurate. Clara then slid her finger down the young woman’s slit and pushed, letting her finger pulse there as if trying to gain entrance. It was seconds before she was rewarded with a hot wetness through the fabric of Tiffany’s tights.
“Another Manhattan,” said Neil setting the drink in front of them. “And a Bloody Mary for my Valentine.”
Tiffany sat up quickly and pull away from Clara enough to force her hand back to the girl’s waist. Clara did not let go. She was staring up at Neil who just stood there with the most devilishly handsome grin she’d ever seen.
“Welcome back, my love.”
He didn’t respond.
Her eyes moved down his body to the bulge that was still growing in his pants.
“See, sweetie,” Clara said to Tiffany. “You are the most alluring thing in this room. I see it. Neil sees it. And look,” she said as she reached out to caress her lover’s cock through his jeans, “this monster right here sees it.”
“Oh,” was all Tiffany could manage.
“Sit down, honey, before you bust your zipper.”
Neil sat but smiled across the table at the two women.
“It’s fine. I’m not shy.”
Clara slid closer to her prey again, this time, slipping her hand beneath the girl’s waist band, down and down and under the edge of her panties. Clara stiffened again but still did not pull away.
“Let go, sweetie. Let go of Derrick. Let go of fear and doubt. Stop thinking and start feeling,” she said as she retraced the steps to the girl’s now uncovered and unsheathed clit. “Let me help you.”
With those words she pressed down on Tiffany’s clit, hard at first causing her to jump, then lightly, making those same tiny circles. Tiffany opened her mouth to gasp, but Clara moved in and captured her mouth with her own, her tongue swirling and lashing about like the tail of a rattle snake. The feel of the young woman’s moans inside her own mouth made Clara squeeze her own thighs tightly together relishing the ache she already felt.
Listening to
Friday, February 5, 2016
Patience
Is it patience to wait for something that will never come?
Or is this faith, loyalty, truth?
A wiser man might say that it is
The height of foolishness.
It is not my desire to sit and waste away
Nor my intent.
But my heart is stuck
And my soul is worn too thin.
The world can change around us
The moon sails past rolling through its phases.
And we remain standing still
Watching the moon and waiting
For the universe to shift.
Or is this faith, loyalty, truth?
A wiser man might say that it is
The height of foolishness.
It is not my desire to sit and waste away
Nor my intent.
But my heart is stuck
And my soul is worn too thin.
The world can change around us
The moon sails past rolling through its phases.
And we remain standing still
Watching the moon and waiting
For the universe to shift.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
How We Writhe
You are mine
Your body and will given so freely
Knowing I will cherish you
Relish in you deepest pleasure
And bask in your pain.
I know you
I know every inch of flesh
By sight
By touch
By taste
I rule your every gasp own every sigh
Every quivered lip and curled toe
You’ve never felt so complete as when I tell you to bend and
All your fears are broken. You bow and kneel, expose to me
All that you are, within, without.
You give me all of you and I take every bit and more
What I give back is rapture. I hold you in a perpetual state
Of frenzied bliss.
Because I want to.
Because I need to.
I drink of you, never sated
Always wanting more
So I push you to limits
You didn’t know you had
When I finally take you
Driving into the flesh
I’ve set to quiver
I find release to my own denied
State of frenzy.
There is nothing but you.
Listening to Miranda Sex Garden "Caravan"
Your body and will given so freely
Knowing I will cherish you
Relish in you deepest pleasure
And bask in your pain.
I know you
I know every inch of flesh
By sight
By touch
By taste
I rule your every gasp own every sigh
Every quivered lip and curled toe
You’ve never felt so complete as when I tell you to bend and
All your fears are broken. You bow and kneel, expose to me
All that you are, within, without.
You give me all of you and I take every bit and more
What I give back is rapture. I hold you in a perpetual state
Of frenzied bliss.
Because I want to.
Because I need to.
I drink of you, never sated
Always wanting more
So I push you to limits
You didn’t know you had
When I finally take you
Driving into the flesh
I’ve set to quiver
I find release to my own denied
State of frenzy.
There is nothing but you.
Listening to Miranda Sex Garden "Caravan"
Monday, January 25, 2016
Life Under Glass
He sees her living a life of feigned happiness and satisfaction, knowing she is incomplete. He knows she is as lost as he, yet there is nothing for it. He knows she’s a good person and punishes herself like no other could for finding something that was beautiful and precious and “oh so wrong”. He would give her the moon but she would have nowhere to put it.
She watches him, watching her. It’s a form of communication without words, without breaking those rules that the world has imposed on her life and his. Her head knows but her heart is ripped and has always spoken so much more loudly. Now that voice is a wailing cry of one wounded and abandoned on a battlefield no one else is supposed to know exists, no one to know she needs help but the one that she can’t reach out to.
They knew their life together came with an expiration date. No happy ending. Not even simply an ending, just lives divided by glass where breath and touch and completion can never be had, just seen enough to long for in a way that defeats all reason and tops all the physical pains they’ve ever known. The glass is cold and, though it has no edges, it cuts them continually, but cannot sever what was and still very much is.
He wishes he could reorder the universe so that he could have her.
She fears any change in what she spent her life building. Her universe must remain constant.
He will always bow to her desires, even if they leave them both cold and cut, bleeding on the glass just so the stains can overlap like fingerprints on a book cover.
She watches him, watching her. It’s a form of communication without words, without breaking those rules that the world has imposed on her life and his. Her head knows but her heart is ripped and has always spoken so much more loudly. Now that voice is a wailing cry of one wounded and abandoned on a battlefield no one else is supposed to know exists, no one to know she needs help but the one that she can’t reach out to.
They knew their life together came with an expiration date. No happy ending. Not even simply an ending, just lives divided by glass where breath and touch and completion can never be had, just seen enough to long for in a way that defeats all reason and tops all the physical pains they’ve ever known. The glass is cold and, though it has no edges, it cuts them continually, but cannot sever what was and still very much is.
He wishes he could reorder the universe so that he could have her.
She fears any change in what she spent her life building. Her universe must remain constant.
He will always bow to her desires, even if they leave them both cold and cut, bleeding on the glass just so the stains can overlap like fingerprints on a book cover.
Short poem
So it appears I will be posting everything here. This is the first of the poetry installments. They will be random and may be 10 a day and none for 10 days. This is the state of my muse at the moment.
Only We Know
I’d bleed to breathe
The air you’ve long discarded.
This life and that
Are strange dreams of each other
Where all is well
And all is ruin.
Suffering is the connection,
Misery the material,
Love the breath of life
But our Joy, though fleeting,
Is so potent as to spawn a world
That only we know.
Only We Know
I’d bleed to breathe
The air you’ve long discarded.
This life and that
Are strange dreams of each other
Where all is well
And all is ruin.
Suffering is the connection,
Misery the material,
Love the breath of life
But our Joy, though fleeting,
Is so potent as to spawn a world
That only we know.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Hey look a blog
Hello friends, or anyone that still remembers me or new peeps. Hellurrrr!
I've been on a forfuckingever hiatus from this blog and a real dedicated writing routine for some time. As I've said in the past, life is very good at getting in the way and, though I've never quit writing, I had little time to actively engage and build my platform here at Dreams of Alchemy.
Since I last posted, I did graduate from college with a BFA in Creative Writing. Yay me! I've also become a high school teacher. Dear God, I'm molding the minds of the future. Let's say the damage is mitigated by that fact that I live in the asshole of the universe and, as of yet, no one from this town as ever gone on to infect the world with our special brand of redneck douchebaggery.
So, let me run down some of the projects I'm working on, which is another way of saying, "This is all the wonderful shit I haven't finished and may never fucking finish... goddamnit. I suck. But it's still cool shit just the same."
Speculative fiction
So, here is what I want to do and I'm still not totally set on how to do it. I want to create a space for short prose and poetry of the erotic kind. I have this blog, which has gotten quite dusty, or I could create a new one. I just don't know how often I'll update but I would like to reengage with the erotica community. I know we're a bunch of horny fucks, but I have to say, I've never found a more open and inviting community of writers than with erotica writers. Not just warm and loving but the kind of smart that's really sexy and the kind of smart that's fun and funny. I forgot how much I loved this community so I'll be very happy to meet more of you and hopefully reconnect with some old friends.
-Cas
Listening to: The Pretender by The Foo Fighters
Next up: who the fuck knows. I'm still fingering, I mean figuring this stuff out right now. Stay tuned?
I've been on a forfuckingever hiatus from this blog and a real dedicated writing routine for some time. As I've said in the past, life is very good at getting in the way and, though I've never quit writing, I had little time to actively engage and build my platform here at Dreams of Alchemy.
Since I last posted, I did graduate from college with a BFA in Creative Writing. Yay me! I've also become a high school teacher. Dear God, I'm molding the minds of the future. Let's say the damage is mitigated by that fact that I live in the asshole of the universe and, as of yet, no one from this town as ever gone on to infect the world with our special brand of redneck douchebaggery.
So, let me run down some of the projects I'm working on, which is another way of saying, "This is all the wonderful shit I haven't finished and may never fucking finish... goddamnit. I suck. But it's still cool shit just the same."
Speculative fiction
- I've written the first half of supernatural horror novel set in 16th century Ireland following the British Civil War and later occupation of Ireland. Did I mention it was historical? Oh, wait, I'll just make is a fictional world and loosely base it on all that shit but the, oh look there's a fucking butterfly. Okay, the deal with this story is, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! I have great ideas and the writing just flows. I love my protagonist. I love everything about the setting, but it just dies in the middle. I've dissected it over and over. I know there is a problem with the protagonist's motivation and that's why I have written that first half 4 times. Yes, that's 2 novels worth of writing just sitting there with no value or worth.
- A military scifi meets manga styled novel about a young genetically engineered teen who is part of a program to develop the breaker pilots of the future, breakers being my name for the mecha style robots that dominate the future of warfare. During an attempt to upload a special kind of A.I. into a girl that is at the head of the class, the school is attacked and the girl is killed, but the A.I. which has been developed to attune to her personality and abilities, seeks out the only other person jacked in to the system at the time, which is our protagonist. He becomes something of a super soldier with the addition of this A.I., Which would be great except it has the personality of a 15 year old girl and has access to his every thought. Drama and hilarity must follow.
- Dark Fantasy based loosely on the Crusades period from our world. A young cleric discovers that instead of becoming the healer he has trained most of his life to be, he is the reincarnation of a death knight that nearly conquered the world 300 years ago in what is known as the Black Crusade. This book has legs and is about 40% through the 1st draft. I'm working on this when I have time but I have to admit I've been side tracked yet again by the next subject/bullet down.
- High Fantasy/Erotic Romance This is a story that I just woke up one day consumed by. I don't know how long it will be or how much of it I will complete and when. I'm still stuck on the Dark Crusader Fantasy above, but this story won't let me be. I've never been so driven to write something and I know that is probably what I'd say about any active WIP. I won't try to explain it or if you'd even care if I did.
So, here is what I want to do and I'm still not totally set on how to do it. I want to create a space for short prose and poetry of the erotic kind. I have this blog, which has gotten quite dusty, or I could create a new one. I just don't know how often I'll update but I would like to reengage with the erotica community. I know we're a bunch of horny fucks, but I have to say, I've never found a more open and inviting community of writers than with erotica writers. Not just warm and loving but the kind of smart that's really sexy and the kind of smart that's fun and funny. I forgot how much I loved this community so I'll be very happy to meet more of you and hopefully reconnect with some old friends.
-Cas
Listening to: The Pretender by The Foo Fighters
Next up: who the fuck knows. I'm still fingering, I mean figuring this stuff out right now. Stay tuned?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Relearning what I didn't know I knew?
So, let it be said that, going back to school (that's only part of where I've been) has been a surprisingly joyous experience for me. I've found a school that, is not only taking my 14 year old credits (teens, unpredictable at best) but has an accredited Creative Writing degree. Oddly its a BA not a BFA but I'll split hairs later. Bottom line? Two years. Two years and I've finally got a degree, and not having a 4 year degree in ANYTHING has haunted me on the job front to say the least. They also have a a MBA in the same area which is really my goal. Teaching writing on the college level would be a dream career for me. Having the credentials that seem requisite to write my own books on writing and storytelling is also a major deciding factor in my degree focus.
One reason for going back to school is this fucking self doubt I can't shake. It's like I know my writing is almost there but I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing some small bit of something. A lot of my studies right now are just recap. I've done quite a bit of craft research and study on my own over the years. I am finding new things as well, things about pacing and leaving gaps that cause the reader to have to engage more that I never really thought about. I look back at my writing and I see a lot of these newly defined elements (new to me at least) are there I just wasn't conscious of them. Like grammar, I don't know all the rules, I just say and write what sounds right to me. Thankfully my parents are both well read and intelligent people or I might not have developed that ear living so close to Kentucky.
And where is my muse in all this? Bemused. Standoffish but then engaged. She isn't calling the shots but dives in with gusto when I get my assignments. She's being reasonable and that is a bit frightening. I think she's planning a mutiny a few months from graduation. I must wait and see and keep my nails neatly trimmed as not to chew them. That bitch is scary sometimes.
Listening to: The Litter River Band - The Night Owls Yeah I'm going old old school.
One reason for going back to school is this fucking self doubt I can't shake. It's like I know my writing is almost there but I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing some small bit of something. A lot of my studies right now are just recap. I've done quite a bit of craft research and study on my own over the years. I am finding new things as well, things about pacing and leaving gaps that cause the reader to have to engage more that I never really thought about. I look back at my writing and I see a lot of these newly defined elements (new to me at least) are there I just wasn't conscious of them. Like grammar, I don't know all the rules, I just say and write what sounds right to me. Thankfully my parents are both well read and intelligent people or I might not have developed that ear living so close to Kentucky.
And where is my muse in all this? Bemused. Standoffish but then engaged. She isn't calling the shots but dives in with gusto when I get my assignments. She's being reasonable and that is a bit frightening. I think she's planning a mutiny a few months from graduation. I must wait and see and keep my nails neatly trimmed as not to chew them. That bitch is scary sometimes.
Listening to: The Litter River Band - The Night Owls Yeah I'm going old old school.
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