My Muse

My muse, or rather, one of them (the one that lives in the aether, not the one that lives in Chicago (see Lady Dusk)) kicked me in the nuts last night.

I was innocently lying there moaning from the exertion of chasing goats, dogs and a VERY reluctant cow. It seems I and my family have been declared the neighborhood go-to guys for dealing with animals that have escaped their pens and gone running off. I have a talent with dogs, so I can understand that part of it, but goats????? COWS?????

I did learn one very important lesson - Martial Arts do NOT work against cows.

Anyway, back to my muse. She told me that I can't just write a science-fiction novel, mostly because it is too much work and not enough creativity. I must also write the fantasy novel that has been banging around in my head for two years. At the same time!

the main characters of both ganged up on me in a dream about something to do with getting on a bus and driving to london. The details are unimportant (and, in fact, inexplicable) but I am committed to writing two novels at the same time, something I have never done. Both to be posted as they go, online. Yay.

Morphine dreams

Heavy eyes closed on a dark room
pungent fragrance, pine and ceder,
smokey sultry woman there.

slow, deep caress,
warm soft skin slides warm soft skin
not doing, just being.
undulating, watching black dragon smoke

under black silk
constant slight movement
subtle teasing,
slow, smooth passion
building slowly
always just an inch
away

black cat sleeping
stretch to reach,
arch of pleasure,
yawns, sighs, sleeps.

smoke twirls and flows
waves and swirls of gray
attention wanders
slides away

heavy eyes open shyly
and closing, and again
black cat whispers silence
dragon smoke swirls

bodies join softly
under black silk
smoke entwines
black cat sighs.

Bad Ferret Nightmares, and an answer for Spiritwrack

Back in mists of prehistory, (call it 1986 or thereabout)my second novel was eaten by a ferret. A drunk ferret. Owned by one Vince, about whom the less said, the better.

This particularly obnoxious creature had a habit of dangling himself into large beer mugs and drinking. A lot. And then, probably because the little bastard was overfed and overloved, he would find the most inappropriate place possible to relieve himself.

He crapped on a videocassette of Fire and Ice, which was a perfectly appropriate editorial comment on the movie, but cost us about $20.

He ate a hole in a leather chair and used it as a toilet until the smell became too much even for him.

He thought my friend Jamie's air mattress was a chew-toy.

And he LOVED computer disks. I had been writing this epic for almost 8 months (this is back when I still suffered from the delusion that somebody would one day READ the stuff I write) and the fucking vermin ATE the thing. 8 months of work. chewed to death by a ferret.

If I had had backups, it wouldn't have mattered. But this was 198fucking6, and backups were things 'the man' did, we freewheeling longhair counterculture types would NEVER do something so lawful......

I had a dream last night. The Ferret had eaten the Declaration of Independence and I was eating scones.

Because of this meaningful, if somewhat obvious, prompt from my usually-more-subtle subconscious, I will indeed be posting my novel online, somehow, as I am writing it.
I am, at the moment, trying to figure out how to organize this. Expect more within a few days.

Accident

I pull into traffic
and glance into the mirror
my entire life is following me
in a little blue car

As if coordinated
planned
the SUV strikes the little blue car
just as I look in the mirror to check on them
and my entire life shudders, groans,
and stands still for a moment
in the rearview mirror

Freeze-frame
time stops
and I spend an eternity
with my terror
and my first thought is
this is backwards. I was supposed to be following her

But she was following me
it made sense,
I knew the road and I needed gas
so I led.
It should have been me
that took the hit.

Thirty feet separate me from my family
and I run it after haphazardly parking
I am looking down
because I don't want to see
until I am there

step
faster, run faster, fat pig
step
my pants are falling off
and I slow down to hike them up
and and I hate myself for it.
step
please let them be alive
step
my fault, my fault, should have waited
step
I look up and see her, she is alive
step
can't see him, shit!
my son!
step
if I hadn't been frustrated,
step
and just wanting to get home
step
I would have waited, looked
step
but no, arrogant jackass has to do it HIS way
step
where is my son?
step
I see him in the back seat
step
he looks fine
step

I reach the little blue car
my hands on the twisted, bent metal
look into her eyes
and then down
her entire body
no blood.
In the back seat
seatbelt fastened
my son, stunned but unhurt.

I breathe

I have to either post on this damned blog or give it up.

I am writing about 5000 words of fiction (hard science fiction) per day, and about 350 of them are worth saving. Which is slow going. Not to mention that I have rewritten the entire concept 4 times so far.

My netfriend Spiritwrack (yes, somebody hasnt had a life since first edition D&D) wants me to post, perhaps here, perhaps on it's own blog, my progress on the new novel. Anybody else want to see the unseemly and unimaginably ugly process of a novel getting written?