And Castles and Queens is completed.
But as the days of summer wind down, I realize it took me about three months to complete it.
Not bad.
But I’ve got one more to go of these; so onward to the next one.
Once I get going, it is hard to stop.
What can I say? I always had a soft spot for playing cards…
It’s hard to imagine there are hits for this blog at all, but there is; so that’s why I keep it going — it’s more of a guide to reading Consumer-isms rather than a series of advertorial like personal plugs.
That said, this is an update/plug of sort.
If you follow Chaser, you know there has been a shift to fables, and those fables are the backbone of a manuscript that I am currently working on, and when I have more to announce, I’ll post it here and on Chaser.
I had been working on another short story anthology, but that has been put on hold until I finish the other work — I’ve never been a linear person, I will drop things for years, only to pick it up again when the inspiration strikes.
November 27, 2007
This is just a little taste of another anthology I am working on. It’s a period piece: a 1980’s punk opera composer just can’t get past a horrible case of writer’s block.
This little scene doesn’t have him in it, but I thought it was an interesting passage to share:
The hotel was always a good place to ensure both privacy and comfort. No self-pitying Elliot to contend with; no journalists to spin; and no swooning friends to enable. Nina was finally alone. Her world of one could be tended to without interruption. Nina studied herself in the mirror; she really was beautiful beyond reproach: she was nothing less than a comely and soft muse who could both freeze her prey with her intimidating radiance and melt them with her gentle sensuous charms. Nina could maintain dominance at all times: her prey’s primal emotions were hers to proficiently manipulate and control to her benefit. At no time could her marks regain their senses long enough to catch on to her complicated games.
She extended her arms playfully above her head as she modeled her flawless and well-dressed physique to herself. No wonder Reese swooned and wrote brilliant and uncompromising punk operas about her and her philosophical dictates. She was as smart as she was gorgeous. She inspired her husband at his work and in the bedroom. She was perfect in every way but one. Why couldn’t she have an ounce of morals?
Just one little piece would make a world of difference. No sick little mind games; no lust to drive her husband insane. Nina understood this deficiency in her soul, but only as a theoretical construct. Her soul could not begin to grasp the dangers and that’s what counted.
September 22, 2007
These are 50 page samplers of three short stories form 3 different writer’s from their stable.
I decided that I’ll contribute a new story to this series, but I’m not sure what the word count should be. So when I hear about it, I will start writing a new fiction story.
Something very edgy and experimental. Something completely punk and raw, but still having a sense of fun and adventure.
I’ll let you know more as I know more.
xoxo.
September 07, 2007
Had the concept for it years ago, but didn’t try to pursue it until the mid-1990’s when I got someone to draw a sample issue and then had it copyrighted.
It was wild.
It was obscene.
It was gloriously vulgar.
It was The Queue: Sperm Extraordinaire.
The story was simple: a grad student named Manley Gurley was put in charge of the Animatrical Stimulator, an unstable device that could animate anything from staples to barbie dolls.
Gurley had other ideas. After striking out with the ladies, he decided to use the stimulator on his manhood; so that he’d have an animated little buddy to impress the ladies.
After attaching it to himself, he turned on the switch and promptly got killed.
But the stimulator got a hold of a single Gurley sperm and transformed it into a six foot thinking, talking tadpole.
That was obsessed with finding an egg to fertilize.
The sperm crashed into a frat boy house, and the rowdy boys, who saw the Queue as a freaky underground alternative youth deity, took it in and fed it a steady stream of booze, smokes, drugs, and porn, giving the poor sperm permanent brain damage.
It just got wilder from there.
I shopped it around, but no one would take it on. I considered self-publishing, but Don’t Believe It came along, that, and a few other projects were put in limbo since I was already teaching as well.
I will post a few pages of the Queue later on, though if anyone is interested…
