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Announcing: Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry is going to APE!

9/29/2013

Several months ago, Steampunk authors Emily Thompson, (author of Clockwork Twist), Elizabeth Watasin, (author of The Dark Victorian: Risen), and I arranged to share an author's table at the 2013 Alternative Press Expo in beautiful San Francisco, California. We will be signing and selling our books at this exciting event, as well as offering a four-book Steampunk bundle deal.

We will be among a whole host of other artists, writers, and makers at this impressive exposition. Click here to see a lineup of this year's lineup of special guests. Follow this link to the APE website, where you will find more extensive information about APE, and what will be on offer there.

If you find yourself in the San Francisco Bay Area in mid October, please join us for what promises to be a very engaging weekend.

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Meanwhile, back in poetry mode ...

9/25/2013

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I have this gnawing desire to write a poem about sailing aboard an airship. I've never actually been on an airship, so how does one visualize the deck, describe the sound of the engine, or sense the air aboard such a vessel?

The timeworn adage to, "write what you know," is a prohibition that would have adversely affected most of my work to date. I know little all about being a steam engine, or foxes, and yet I've written about them both.

Two of the approaches I employ involve the use of the metaphor and the parable. With a metaphor, I can flesh out a subject by comparing it with a seemingly unrelated one. Train of Thought, is one such example of linking two otherwise dissimilar topics.

I like to employ the use of the parable when I wish to explore a basic principal, as was the case when I wrote, Fox. There, I got to delve into innocent, headless play, and followed it to the resultant trouble that this sort of behavior is bound to bring.

So, an airship ride should be a cinch to write about, right? No, not so; not until I can figure out which approach would be best employed, or the end I want to reach. Should I be thinking in metaphor, in parable, or perhaps in terms of merely a visually atmospheric piece? Hmm...

At this point in the process, I have only a vague sense of that which is begging to be written. So, in lieu of hiring an airship, I am left to meditate on its imagined elements, and to seek out possible experiential cross references, while I assume, once again, the poet's trance.

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The poet, now novice author

9/23/2013

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Though poetry and short parables have been the mainstay of my writing life, I now find myself working on a different sort of book. The germ of an idea has been unrelentingly incubating in my mind for well over a year now, and it is time to let it grow some roots.

As I begin this new venture, I tend to reflect more openly on what other authors have said. Many writers pine for uninterrupted solitude, and the need of a quiet pastoral sanctuary to which they can steel themselves for months on end. Now I begin to understand what they mean.

As a poet, I write "on the fly," as it were, penning phrases and short notes on napkins, paper bags, or whatever is very handy at the time. As an author, I am more rooted to a continuous thought which is carried forward, and backward, diagrammed, and develops on page after page after page.

I have resorted to diagramming my longer or more engrossing poems. That was very like planting and nurturing a seed, which emerged up through the loam a sapling, and grew into a slender plant, as ideas branched off, budded, unfolded, and broadened into form.

This time, however, I believe I'm growing a much larger and more intricate organism, with tenacious roots that grapple for stability and food, with an ever widening trunk, having arms and fingers breeding fingers into leaves that grope for the sun. This time, it feels like nothing less than a tree.

Concurrent with this, I am still inspired to write poetry. Surprisingly, the feel and tone of these two forms of writing is very distinct, which makes me wonder whether it is possible to have two muses, or perhaps a hydra-muse.

Whichever it is, I am intrigued by this new process of writing, though I know that I am in for a lot more weeding and watering than I have ever done. Still, I find that I grow impatient to see just what sort of tree this novice author is now growing. Once again, fingers crossed.

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Why so staggered ...

9/20/2013

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Though my intention is to post bi-weekly to this blog, life (in the form of writing poetry, meeting with friends, running errands and the like) just keeps muscling its way in. I am cognizant that a blog should be uploaded with some regularity. Well, in the meantime, as I endeavor to improve that, I thank all of you who read this blog for hanging in here.

Fortunately, there is no lack of subjects that I wish to blog about. But having missed posting this past Wednesday, I present you with a very recently written poem:

Intangibles

This gaping wallet in my hand
so fully spent not coin remains
and oh how sweet the where and when
continue still to sustain.

Such artifacts that I collect
serve but to jog at memory
which shelters, clear of moth or dust
or rust, in what is yet me.

A lust for mansions, vessels, cars,
for pockets bulging ready cash,
the pace and ease of luxury,
once held me, meat in it’s grasp.

Now, victim of commercial gain
abandoned by the banker’s dole
I am reborn, I disobey,
and singe the road as I go.

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No myopia in here, my friend...

9/16/2013

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I spend a lot of time living exclusively inside my own head when I'm writing. The view through my eyes is never shuttered, exactly, but I generally ignore what's going on "out there" beyond my thoughts. This soon becomes obvious to anyone trying to engage me in conversation while I'm composing.

At some point, I'll vaguely overhear someone familiar with me saying, "You're writing a poem ... aren't' you?" As this mild accusation enters my closest ear canal, and wends it's way into my arena of awareness, I pause a moment, briefly tune in, and abstractly answer, "Yeessss..."

When this intangible, yet undeniable Everworld calls, it is that unfocused staring into seemingly nothing that gives the writer away. In my case, I am staring into a vast domain that is hidden from external view, where there is no sense of myopia, and where my thusly engaged mind is off the usual charts.

It is here where all manor of words float freely while I coax then, select them out of the cerebral air, commingle and align them, as I edit them all into a cohesive whole: a poem.

Should you come upon someone who has a writing implement in one hand, a sheet of paper under the other, or perhaps an open laptop, and who appears to be communing with some invisible "something," leave them be. Otherwise, you can either be a distraction, or muse about the marvels you are not yet be privy to. You get to choose.

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Constructive criticism and the sensitive soul...

9/12/2013

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I would hazard to guess that "reasonable" people don't go out of their way to look for a fight. It might also be said that "sensitive" people might feel uneasy about seeking out critiques on their work.  As a writer, the latter becomes an imperative, at some point.

I've written on the topic of feedback before, but the point I wish to make here is that, for a writer, it becomes important to determine the perimeters, to find the far wall, which can help one to know when one has gone too far, or perhaps not far enough.

Image yourself standing all alone in a flat, open field. You have a ball in your hand. You throw that ball as far as you can manage. And then ...........?

As tempting as it might be to shy away from criticism, a poem or a novel can suffer when there is no far wall, no other person to toss the ball back. Some of my early poems met with scant reaction. It was very much like working in a vacuum.

Continually comparing my poems and my skill level with greatest published poets I could find proved a huge help in developing my work; but they were all long deceased; beyond approach. In effect, I spent years playing bounce ball against the mortuary walls.

It has taken me a great long time to find a group of well practiced, living, poets and authors with whom to commune. My first steps toward commenting on their work, and of sharing mine, were scary at first; "they might detest my remarks and recoil at my verse."

Fortunately, they did not live up to my worst imaginings, but even if they had, I could still have benefited in hitting that far wall. As with any aim work striving for, better some criticism than none at all.

Rethinking, regrouping, and rewriting are essential to this writer's enterprise, and I am grateful for those who are now here in this flat, open field, playing catch with me.

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"So, how was the book signing...?"

9/9/2013

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As featured writers, Emily Thompson and I, settled in for a long evening, we were surprised by the relatively relaxed atmosphere of the venue, that being the Discover San Jose store. Our ever gracious hostess, Kymberli Weed Brady, and Renee (the store manager), were a huge help in ever possible way.

As promised, there were tiers and platters full of various sorts of biscuits (cookies) and a large canister of delicious iced tea. The shop sells many Steampunk items, from a table constructed of gears and glass, to jewelry crafted from gears and cogs, as well as beautiful tiny Victorian hats. Hanging baskets, made to look like airships, offered visitors fresh popcorn.

Kymberli, Renee, Emily, and I came in our Steampunk costumes, and we soon found ourselves surrounded by group after group of guests dressed in glorious, full-on Steampunk attire. As the evening progressed, and more visitors arrived, a consistently festive mood permeated the shop.

We signed, sold, and read from copies of our books, and were also met with earnest promises to return for copies, to be signed later. We were asked about our calendars by those who wished to follow us. Friends who had already purchased our books showed up to cheer us on.

As this is also San Jose Fashion Week, a cadre of incredibly lavishly dressed princesses sauntered in, accompanied by their photographers. At one point, those lovely ladies surrounded Emily and I at our signing table, along with our hostess, for a spontaneous and protracted photo shoot

So, to wrap up this report, it was Steampunk, festive, well beyond anything we had expected, lucrative, and wonderful fun! Emily and I extend a heartfelt thank you to all who made it out. To those who couldn't be there this time, we hope we'll get to see you at our next author event.

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Prepping for the book signing = cookies!

9/3/2013

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I am happy to confirm that there will, indeed, be tea and cookies at our book signing event this Friday evening, on September 6th, Since the weather outside is still a bit warm, the tea will be iced. The cookies served will be predominantly of British origin, of course.

Since I will be doing an oral reading from Emily Thompson's novel, Clockwork Twist, I have had a chance to reacquaint myself with her lushly descriptive introductory chapter. Emily will be reading some of my rhyming verses from Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry. Feel free to wear your finest Steampunk attire.

This event is one of many open venues during South First Friday's in downtown San Jose. Should you find yourself in the neighborhood, please stop in and see us. We will happily spend time with you as we sign our books.

The hours of this event are from 7:00 pm until 11:00 pm. If for no other reason, come on in for a cookie and some iced tea. We'd love to see you.

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Announcing: Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry is going to APE!

Meanwhile, back in poetry mode ...

The poet, now novice author

Why so staggered ...

No myopia in here, my friend...

Constructive criticism and the sensitive soul...

"So, how was the book signing...?"

Prepping for the book signing = cookies!

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