I am including this post of my First Verse as part of the Daily Post for Sanctuary.
It was inspired a beautiful work of art by a friend which I have linked to at the bottom of the post. Her work is superb.
A PAINTED STORY CHAIR OF DREAMS
A Painted Story-Chair of Dreams
A fitting vision does it seem
In which to sit and rock the soul
That wants to wander as it roams
About the misty, darkened night
Whose moon still ambles in the light
Of the countless colored stars
Some close to touch, some still afar
A peacock throne, a thousand eyes
Upon the sea, within the skies
Serpents coiling in the mind
Omens opened up on time
Space the nearness of a sleep
In which the desert dreaming deep
Is as the jungle in its might
Is as the Dawn of Paradise,
Now to twilight as you ride
Upon the waves of shifting tide
The seasons wax and then they wane
Your eyes grow wan their meaning plain
You plan to slumber in the Chair
A Painted Story in the Air
Where Heaven bends to searching Earth
To find you dreaming of Rebirth…
I’ve cleared my entire calendar for November in order to write my novel for National Novel Writing Month. Aside from some type of emergency, and I don’t anticipate one (though you never really do, do ya?), writing my novel will be my chief priority this month.
So my blogging and other social media efforts will likely lag as a result. So will every other non-essential pursuit as the novel will be my Essential Activity for November. Fortunately I anticipate a very quiet month which will allow me the opportunity to write completely without distraction.
I’ve decided to go with THE OLD MAN as my chosen novel.
I intend to produce between 1500 and 5000 words per day, depending upon the day and the way the story proceeds and progresses. I already have much of the plot, all of the sections, and a few of the scenes sketched out.
Because of my broken wrist I will be writing the novel out in long hand on long notepads and my daughter will be typing it for me. I begin as soon as I’ve had breakfast and I walk Sam (my Great Dane) as it’s been raining this morning and prevented an earlier walk.
Congratulations to all of those pursuing writing their novel this month.
Good Fortune and Godspeed.
See you at the end of the month if not sooner…
I write Children’s books. I do not have the time to illustrate them right now, so I’d love to find an excellent illustrator, but that aside, I write children’s books. So almost every time I go to the library I check out at least two children’s books (picture books I mean, I also read Middle Grade and Young Adult books but that’s another post) to read and study.
Last time I went I got books by Aaron Becker and Graeme Base. Becker’s book, called Journey, was flat out illustration, the entire story was told just in pictures. The book by Base, entitled Animalia, (another favorite of mine by Base is the Waterhole) was both scripted and illustrated, and the artwork must have taken a very long time indeed to perfect. But it is that, nearly perfect. Of the two I preferred Animalia, because of the artwork, but the story in Journey was superior and reminded me of the video game Ico, which was also gorgeous, and had a superb story.
I highly recommend both books.
These are the caliber of artists I want illustrating my children’s books.
Have a great day folks.
This is a photograph I took and then modified to submit to a photography contest one Halloween. I think I won third place for the pic. However I never actually received my prize. Which was supposed to come by mail but never arrived.
It is of one of the first Black and Yellow Argiope (A. Aurantia) to appear near my house, years before I began cultivating and keeping them. I call the photograph, The Descent of Arachnia. After the myth. Below the pic is the poem I wrote to accompany the photograph.
THE DESCENT OF ARACHNIA
On common web that most uncommon beast
Does descend upon every unwatched fate
And threads which measure out the feast
Of living span do tremble, spin, and quake –
When hearts catch at approaching omen’s crawl,
Every man knows well though spoken not
How deep within his untangling looms,
A tremor from the center of the clot
Which darkens blood and shadows doom
When creeping eyes do find him slumber’s thrall,
Legs, long of aspect, slow, and lithe
Run out patiently with dread approach,
For nothing stems that fang which glides
Like icy limb upon the frigid throat
To close up tight in horrid awe,
She comes like shadow in the colored dark
To pluck the living fibers from men’s veins,
Descended from some ancient Wyrd embarked
Which entwines our bodies round in vain –
For no man e’er escapes that creeping maw;
When Arachnia stoops to make her final claim.