Back on the Wagon

So the usual excuses apply.

• I'm still perplexed and profoundly disappointed by the 2016 elections ("выборы")
• The Day Job has exploded in urgency and scope
• Too many changes at home to allow time to work on the blog
• Twitter is more fun

But that's all BS. All true but still BS.

Fact is, given a choice between writing a short or working on a novel vs. updating a blog which is visited only on the most rare of occasions, I'll take the submittable work every time.

By way of catch up since my last post, February of 2017:

• I've beta read at least a dozen manuscripts
• Have submitted to at least four times as many publications
• Have cheered (and turned a slight twinge of green) as several of my more focused friends reach book deals.
• I've written around eight new pieces with varying degrees of success
• Still working on the same novel (mostly)
• Attended Paradise Lost (San Antonio, TX) and enjoyed it greatly
• Made a completely new and impressive circle of writerly friends in Chicago
• Acting as a juror for the 2018 Stoker Awards - though it feels more like slush-reading
• Took on a couple of new Patreons - to fuel my DeMedici fantasies

When I've got an hour to spare in the future, maybe I'll crank out quick blogpost to keep the saw sharpened.

But maybe not.

Happy Valentine's Day!

A few months ago, my critique group and I decided to enter a contest for very short fiction, no more than 300 words, dealing with the topic of Valentine's Day. We all entered the contest. None of us won, but I had a lot of fun writing this little piece.

Remember. Know what you're eating before the third bite!

*******

Flickering candlelight danced across polished silverware, placed upon immaculate linen with precision and hope. I lowered the cruet and carefully drizzled raspberry-vinaigrette atop fresh greens, julienned baby carrots and strands of parmesan.

            I exhaled with relief and checked the time. My body thrummed when I realized that in mere moments Amanda would be here. My honey-haired, emerald-eyed muse, Amanda. An idiot’s grin split my face and my cheeks felt flush.  I was grateful she’d accepted my invitation for dinner, a last ditch effort on my part to rekindle the passion we’d both shared once upon a time. Longing glances at the restaurant, working side by side on the line, “accidental” brushes of flesh upon flesh. A whirlwind of passionate lovemaking and bliss, followed by a cold distance, growing longer each day since.  I missed her, needed her. According to legend, just three bites of my painstakingly prepared putto con le ali would fan the embers of our love into an eternal inferno.

            A chime sounded from the kitchen, reminding me of the entrée. As I entered the kitchen, the aroma hit me first. A mouth-watering smell of gentle summer breezes, fresh-cut roses and a subtle undercurrent of sweet cinnamon. I slipped on a pair of mitts and removed the roast.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

            Golden-brown skin, moist and beckoning. Rounded curves and succulent, tender flesh, glistening with boysenberry-infused sherry au-jus and sprigs of rosemary for flavor.  One last step remained. The kitchen shears cut through tendons and ligaments. With no small effort, I yanked the singed snowy white wings from the cherub’s back and tossed the plumage into the trash bin.

            The doorbell rang.

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Goals for 2017

In the past I've always created a bullet list of a dozen or more goals (aka resolutions) for the New Year.

And I've always conveniently forgotten about them until the following year.

I'm going for something a bit different in 2017 for "reasons".

Rather than discrete tasks, I'm going macro and will focus on a theme instead.

Best wishes to you and yours in 2017.