Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
he’s an edge without a blade
rain without a cloud
a dance without a song
a steak without a knife
he’s a foot without a leg
a beard without a head
pupils without a face
fat without a bone
he’s an object without shape
sweet without taste
sour without texture
swallowed without chewing
spoken without thought
buried without mourning
morning without light
coffee
without beans
don’t judge me wit crayons
or color me
on Insta
Face
tweet
you adult you
e’s and blue screens
ceilings and fans
t.v. and sports
song and dance
coming and going
in
fan-tah-sy
compa-tish
shun
hiddin by a fence
you see there
i see it
don’t
you correct my words
for-gettin’
’bout my
e’s and blue screens
ceilings and fans
t.v. and sports
song and dance
coming and going
in
fan-tah-sy
compa-tish
shun
trans
pan
bi
straight
another city
another country
another –
face
none this is me
i’m all this
don’t try to touch me
don’t seal me with a kiss
touch on skin
touch on lips
touch on face
touch on spit
touch on love
touch on hate
touch on kiss
touch on grace
touch on
touch on
touch
on
touch
I fumbled through routines. Did I feed the cats? Yes, I remembered, I did.
But I didn’t bring in the paper. Oh, yeah, go get it.
I forgot my gloves. Right, go get them.
Jesus, I forgot that refrigerator light bulb. That’s right, that’s right, I planned to go to Ace and get that after I’m done writing, and wanted that bulb with me. Christ, go get it.
You better think. Do you have everything else?
I thought about it. I’d begun the morning by thinking about an intense dream I had. Then the muses took over, writing in my head. They revealed why the other character hadn’t joined yet, and gave me more insight into her eventual appearance.
Scenes kept flowing through me on an unstoppable course. As it happens when the muses push hard, my imagination became switched on full. Story and characters flowed, along with poems and floofinitions.
In the end, though, I had to shove all that aside and re-focus energy and attention on April Showers 1921. It became one of those sessions of typing fast and hard, leaving my coffee almost full, just, I think, a sip and a gulp consumed before I launched into full writing mode.
Finally, three thousand words later, the muses relented. A stop was ordered. I reckoned seventy-five minutes had passed. It felt like I’d totally been in that church were the scenes were taking place, and not in a coffee shop table, typing on a laptop. I’d ignored my posture, of course, so my shoulders were achy from being hunched over and typing as fast as I could.
Good day of writing like crazy. These days are not terribly frequent, but I love them when they come.
There’s something in the coffee, some sort of quantum additive that accelerates time. That must be the case, because I can’t believe that January, 2019, is done. How else can this be explained? Over eight twelve percent of the new year has passed. Can we still call it a new year, or is it now a mildly used year?
Hoping all you writers and dreamers out there are keeping up, pacing yourself with the pursuit of your goals and dreams. I’ve started out strong, I’m pleased to mention. Four on Kyrios is out with twenty agents.
Meanwhile, I’m writing a new novel, April Showers 1921. This is a return to ground processed before, a young adult SFF novel. The novel concept and cover streamed into my dreams at the year’s beginning, and I took off after it.
AS1921 has been a challenge to write. Numero uno, I’m writing in a much younger voice. It’s harder to get into their skins. Numero dos, scenes and dialogue keep pouring into me. I try keeping up, but, numero trey, the novel is much faster paced than I expected. I keep challenging that pace, suggesting to my muses, “Aren’t we going too fast?” They tell me, “Just write what we tell you.”
Yes, the muses are demanding and arrogant as always. I don’t know why I’m always expecting them to be friendlier and more relaxed. I take what they dish out because I don’t want to scare them off. I’ll endure their demands as long as they keep delivering.
I’ll write what and as they tell me now because I can always edit, revise, and slow the pace later. They vex me, though. They’ve given me five main characters, and yet they’ve kept one of those characters off the page through the first four chapters. I’ve asked them, how is that character going to join the story? When? They’ve stayed mute about that, but typing that sentence just triggered the flash of a scene. I’m beginning to suspect the muses are keeping some things back because they see how overwhelmed I am by their pace. I would be angry, but I’m too grateful.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time in 2019. Cheers
I began a new novel project at the beginning of the new year, April Showers 1921. I’m in the exploratory phase. While the character, story, and its cover popped up in a dream, and I can see it and hear the characters and story, sometimes ‘watching it’ like I’m seeing it on a television or movie screen. Then I’m scrambling to capture all the details, translate them to words, get the order right, and get it on paper.
It’s difficult. The pace is fast and relentless. My brain power lacks the capacity to absorb it. Stopping to do and enjoy other things is hard because novel scenes are always popping out. Details spring into mind in the middle of conversations with other people. When I’m in an actual writing session and everything is channeled into a coherent order, the inexorable flow quickens. The faucet is opened but I have no control over the volume that pours into me. Becoming intense and exciting, I fall behind again, forcing me to break off and pace to regain control, take a deep breath, and go at it again.
I also want to jump ahead to learn more about the villains. They intrigue me, but my muses are being coy about them. They offer tantalizing glimpses but won’t let me see the whole thing yet.
Yeah, weird, but it’s my process. If I could, I’d just stay here with this novel, hour after hour, watching, listening, shaping and writing. I’d probably deprive myself of sleep and exercise, but not coffee, water, and food – a man needs to know his limitations.
I remind myself of my basic writing approach.
These sessions leave me spent, as you can probably understand. I vex others because most energy is being diverted into writing this novel while I submit my last finished work to agents in search of publication.
The coffee shop is closing, and they’re kicking us out. It’s their usual Sunday thing. Done writing like crazy, at least for now.
I didn’t write write yesterday. I had a full schedule of other activities planned. Yes, it’s rare that I take a day off writing. I think there are usually six days a year that I don’t write, and they’re usually sick days, travel days, or holidays. Might as well face it, I’m addicted to writing.
When I say that I didn’t write, I mean that I didn’t sit down with computer, crayon, or paper and pen. I wrote, but it was all in my head. I’ve noticed before that not writing and breaking out of my routine to do other things stimulates my writing. Same thing happened yesterday. I was writing fast in my head.
After getting home close to midnight last night (and with over twenty-six thousand steps on the Fitbit), I had a lot to write this morning. The writing session was one of those intense, fast-paced, and focused affairs that I so love, one where I take one or two gulps of hot black coffee as prelude to the process, and then unleash the muses. An hour or two later, butt sore and with half a cup of cold coffee still available, I stop, spent like a marathon runner.
It’s been an excellent writing week. Having discovered that simultaneous submissions to agents are now considered normal (yeah, you probably all knew that already, didn’t you?), I’ve submitted Four on Kyrios to six agents. I’ve taken my writing approach to procuring an agent. With writing, I write and press on, and with agents, I submit and press on.
Meanwhile, I’ve jumped into a new novel-writing project, April Showers 1921. As always, it’s great fun here in the beginning, when ideas spin like polished, multi-faceted gem stones, letting me think about all the possibilities. Often, though, as I contemplate the facets, the muses say, “Here, we’re going this way. Come on.”
That’s how it’s been. I’m not arguing with them. Fools argue with muses, because mortals always lose any argument with a muse. That’s just fact. I looked it up on the Innertubes, and found a Youtube interview with Shakespeare about it, so you know it’s true.
Now, though, I’m at the après writing juncture that requires me to stop. Don’t really want to stop because it’s been great but I know that I’m finished for the day. Other things remain to be done, my energy is shifting, and my body is saying, “Excuse me, but can we move? Would it be possible to bend and stretch, reach for the sky, stand on tippy toes, and all that?”
Sure, body. We’ll go do some of that. Time to stop writing like crazy, for at least one more day. Just let me gulp down this cold coffee and we’ll get out of here.
Waste not, want not, right?
Michael Seidel, writer 