Monthly Archives: May 2009
I was once challenged to write a sentence that was one page long. Well, here is what I affectionately call “Long Ass Sentence.” Try reading it in one breath.
As the swollen, spherical, moon, glowing in all its angelic radiance appeared in the frozen December night sky with icy mist clinging to the air and reflecting, like crystals, the enchanting white lunar light, I stared up into the heavens hoping and praying to God for a glimpse of salvation, as despair rotted my guts, gnawing at me like a parasite that would never be satisfied, even with my premature death it would feed off the dust, that the worms and decay of the bitch known as time, had ground my bones into, when I saw a glimmer of hope in the form of a trail, that plowed through the cold, black, menacing sky, a pinprick of hope in a sea of sorrow, its light shimmered and grew, dark blues and purples rippled like cosmic waves and distorted the winking stars into blurry afterthoughts and like a tiny, insignificant seed, hope began to bloom in the lifeless, hardened stone that was once my beating heart, its welcome roots spread as the gift from above grew closer, yellows and greens now accompanied by a siren of angels that trumpeted the arrival of new beginnings, bleating out the sorrow, like beating snakes from tall weeds, the harbinger grew closer, so close I wanted to reach up and close my fist around it, keeping it for myself, never to share with the rest of the world, the searing gift from above, and then as quickly as it brilliance came to me it started to fade, dissipating into cosmic dust that floated down into the midnight sky having given me its message of hope and wishes, knowing that it only needed mere moments of dazzling glory to inspire lifetimes of inspiration it died, but in doing so gave me an ally in the struggle against the darkened, bitter bile that perverted my waking thoughts and plagued my dreaming consciousness, so tonight as I lay in my cold, lonely sheets, they would for the first time in years, become warm and comfortable and inviting, and I would sleep the sleep of the blessed knowing that in the darkest of night a beacon of hope would show itself if I waited long enough.
Thanks to all the men and women in the armed forces. You should know that my family and I appreciate you.
Just read 2 more stories:
Blossom by David Schow. All I can say is whoa! Pretty cool and graphic scene in there that I wil surely try and emulate one day.
The Third Dead Body by Nina Kiriki Hoffman. I love the premise of this story. A woman is cursed to love the one who hurts her the most. Sucks for the guy who killed her.
I think it’s time to put the The Living Dead down for the time being and start reading some different genres.
I’m going to see Jeffrey Ford do a reading, from his short story collection The Drowned Life, this Friday at the Moonstone Art Center in Philly. I have never been to a reading before and I’m excited. I can’t think of a better person to go and listen to.
If you haven’t read Jeffrey Ford you should, ’nuff sad. He is one of the best. If your looking to dip your toe into Ford’s goodness (gak) I suggest starting with:
The Physiognomy:After reading this I had two favorite books, this first book in the well-built-city trilogy and The Great and Secret Show by Clive Barker. Trust me, read The Physiognomy and the other two books will be a must read. They’re all great and I particularly loved the last book The Beyond. How these books aren’t movies yet I’ll never know.
The Girl in the Glass. This book is just a pleasure to read. I was actually disappointed to have it come to an end. I haven’t read all of Ford’s work yet ( I will) but to me this was the most beautifully written so far.
There are a ton of stories in this collection of zombie stories. I’m not much of a critic and I respect anyone who’s gotten published. Anyway, here is what I think about what I’ve read so far:
Malthusian’s Zombie by Jeffrey Ford. Great story and quite different from the other stories I’ve read so far in this book. As always Jeff writes beautifully.
This Years Class Picture by Dan Simmons. My favorite story in the book so far. I’m just discovering Simmons and I look forward to reading more of his work. I hear “Drood” is awesome.
Sex, Death an Starshine by Clive Barker. Clive is my favorite. If it wasn’t for him I may not be a reader or the wanna-be writer I am today. This story is old school Barker.
Death and Suffrage by Dale Bailey. Well written but kind off dragged for me.
Bitter Grounds by Neil Gaiman. Beautifully written but I didn’t get it. I need to read this one again. I love Gaiman. If I ever meet him again I’ll be sure to ask him what he was thinking about when he wrote it.
Some Zombie Contingency Plans by Kelly Link. Entertaining but I have no idea what the point was.
Those Who Seek Forgiveness by Laurell K. Hamilton. I don’t have much to say about this one. It was pretty good.
Ghost Dance by Sherman Alexie. I like the way Alexie writes and enjoyed this story.
Pretty Cool! He just did this as a quickie to see if I liked it.
Here is an excerpt of a piece I’m working on now. What do you think?
Suddenly he is able to move. The night is black and starless and the moon is hidden by the dark or simply swallowed whole by the yawning void around him. A memory that has been locked away, hidden from consciousness is released in a wave of light and image. Bobby looks down and sees the freshly dug grave. The overturned soil is moist and fragrant and borders the yawning hole the stretches downward into the bowels of the earth. Inside a faint light flickers on the breath of the dead. A rope is anchored by a black iron spike that is hammered into the ground. Bobby is seven years old and curiosity outweighs fear and common sense in this age of wonder over science.
As he descends downward, slowly, hand over hand, into the darkness the stale air of stone and clay replaces the scent of freshly dug dirt. He reaches the bottom of the grave and hears distant moaning that drifts on the slight underground current of stagnant air. He walks toward the flickering light and the moaning grows louder but is accented by the rattling of chains scraping on stone. Whispers, now he hears the whispers as they caress his spine raising gooseflesh. The voice calls him forward and he trudges through the darkness until he sees a figure before him. The figure wears the brown cloak of his brotherhood and looks angelic in front of the flickering candles.
“Come forward”, the figure tells him.