“Artists of a large and wholesome vitality get rid of their art easily, as they breathe easily or perspire easily. But in artists of less force, the thing becomes a pressure, and produces a definite pain, which is called the artistic temperament.” – G.K. Chesterton
spring runs from mountain to mountain
igniting the snow with the dawn
and the snow pours down its sides
gushing like crystal wax
ahead of the green & gold
lifting up its voice
Continue reading “The Freedom Giver”
Last night I saw a student production of The Tempest.
I’d never read the play, but knew it featured a shipwreck and a character named Ariel, as well as (in this case) a circus interpretation. Usually, I try to read the play first: my synapses take a while to sync with the nuances of Shakespeare’s words. But, as I did not have a chance to read the play beforehand, I sat back and tried to track the flow of the narrative instead.
At first, I hated Prospero.
Continue reading “Breaking Broken”
You know how there are some people you talk with for a few moments, and you inexplicably feel like you’ve known them all their lives? That’s pretty much how my friendship with Annie Hawthorne (my petname for her is Cinthy, since she reminds me of hyacinth flowers) started: we clicked right off the bat. Since then, we’ve exchanged writing and talked on the phone, I’ve adopted her as my dragonkeeper, and we ramble on about all sorts of things. And now, at long last, she’s launched a blog! EEEEEEEE! I’m delighted to be able to introduce her to you guys today, and to point you to a lovely new site soon to be filled with perusals and things. ^_^ So, without further ado, read the interview and bookmark her blog!
Continue reading “Interview: Of Darling Wrens”
“What would it look like for you to walk away from the opinions of people who don’t see the dream?”
How do you stop caring about other people’s opinions? Especially when they’re wrong? How do you shut off feelings of frustration when people don’t understand you and your desires?
When I was 15, I had the start of a hellish year. I grew up fast, in some ways. I had precious relationships ripped from me, relationships all the more precious because they were so rare in my younger years, and the aftermath was raw.
And somehow that fire burned my vision. I saw so much more clearly. I started to see people as people, as flawed, tragic, beautiful beings living in a story.
Continue reading “chasing the glass”
Cowriting can be a pretty darn awesome experience. In fact, pretty much all of my ventures into cowriting have been very darn awesome. Probably because my cowriters are awesome. And the co-creator of this story is definitely awesome. You can tell because of the repetition for emphasis in the logical syllogism. *cough*
The story started when my friend Mark went, “Hey, there’s this superhero story on Holy Worlds, you should see about it,” and then kept poking me nicely because I like things but I also forget about them. It’s a symptom of cookie deficiency. Anyway. Eventually he brilliantly wondered aloud in chat if our superheroes knew each other, and…well…a story started poking less nicely. Because this story is the sort of story that makes authors cry. And laugh.
Hopefully, readers will feel the same too. Eventually. As part of the development, we enrolled two characters into the questionnaire called “Beautiful People.” Mark answered the questions for The Dreamer, and I for Lance – who are currently from the same overall story, but different books. Currently. All of this is experimental science, so expect data fluctuations/variations in the final product.
Also of interest – neither of us picked ‘good guys’ this time around. Manipulating people’s mind’s and–well, you’ll see.
Continue reading “Beautiful People – August 2013 – Double Feature”
Stories you read when you’re the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you’ll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit.
– Neil Gaiman, M is for Magic
A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.
– E. B. White, “The Art of the Essay No. 1”