, is the word that comes to mind—at this
particular moment in time; in regards to
the state of my up and coming novel,
which in fact is nearly five months over
Then, a swelling of the creative
I find myself wanting to scribe
of great gods, before the fall of the Sumerian
And link it to Gods inexistence—
"Somewhere between Oblivion and You.
I write these words, and marvel at the pain
in my heart, My dear Luci." - From my
dripping as well ink tends
to do from a memorable pen.
Five years…Five years.
No, this is not a rehash of a David Bowie
song—it is the time and space (Somewhere,
Somehow) it’s taken me to get from point
A to point B,
with many a twist and turn (Turn about, turn
around) and I wonder, when I get right down
to it: Why can I write of an in everything
except my novel
Check mate…Queen takes King.
You know, it started simple enough—as all
ideas do, I presume.
A minute plot
, a interweaving of layers,
an over the top climax
and the great let
Good conquers Evil and the Flaming Hot-n-Tot
rouge gets the garter clad Mademoiselle in
To quote from Topsy-Turvy
: “Laugher, Curtain,
There is a difference, My Difference and
indifferent take on the whole religion
are both sides of the
Popes coin, and where as Milton
Lucifer being a tragic hero, overcome with
My version involves all creation
in a virtual
time-stand-still, never-may-care sort of
plush and puke environment
Ah, yes—the most redundant of places New
. But why stop there! So many settings
and so many multi-dimensional characters.
To write, is to paint
a vivid picture—to
paint scenes in letters
To have the reader surmise and construe the
felt she needed
to breath life in any given paragraph
But I do regress.