I’ve written very little fiction these last few days. I’ve plotted and thought about my characters… but my hours have been filled with Rice and Coffee Poesy—poetry about everyday things as they happen.
I’m having a blast with it. Now I see why William Blake wrote pieces like “The Chimney Sweeper,” and “London” (I’m not comparing myself to the Romantic poetry god, so stop rolling your eyes, Luvs). I’m just saying that that life tastes so freaking good when it soars high over the vast valleys (and alleys) of poetic prose, and Blake’s work shows just how much.
The next couple of weeks, starting tomorrow, should be more productive when it comes to fiction. I will revise a few short stories for my next ebook. And I need to contact one of the best artists in the world *cough, cough, Shelle, are you there?* to discuss the cover. The working title is Guts for Joy and Other Tales. I’m ridiculously high on excitement ;-)
Carmi, the brains of Thematic Photographic, has also been high lately. His “Fly” is shiny, powerful, and in your face—I like it. Yet, this week, I chose to soar back to the past:
This old baby sits in everlasting flight at the New York Hall of Science