You know how you know when you're completely unenthusiastic?

When you get a package from your publisher containing the first galleys of your new novel, and your reaction is "What fucking EVER."

Three uncorrected ARCs of "Matty Groves." And I seriously don't give a shit.

And I seriously don't give a shit

Well, if it was all skipping through happy meadows, everybody would be doing it.

Eh. They dangled and dodged and basically devoured any remnants of enthusiasm I had left for dealing with them.

Screw it. Back to WMGGW.

Ashes

Orange  limns the horizon,
     burns in protest;
feeble stand
     against the night.
Pale blue sky flees upward,
     bound by endless navy.
Silent boats glide towards shore, their white sails
     falling,
shrouds for the dying day.


Quenching, drenching, clouds pass away
     and the parched land
lives. Muted greens and golds,
     under a crown of stars.
Released from durance,
     free to live
unencumbered.


Golden brass with sinuous sound;
     smooth moves and liquid notes,
Cascading,
     a cajoling wail down the spine
hits a nerve,
     leaves the soul thirsty.
Cool breeze off the lake, cool beer
     slides down the throat.


Day’s fire is banked.

Sail, that's gorgeous.

Gorgeous is the word.

That's lovely, Sail.

Thank you! It's amazing what a really good beer and good companionship can inspire you to.

Bridges, Burning

There is a far side, and a near side. That's the way it works, with bridges.

the crash, a disturbing rumble of spectral lumber, a plank falling free, smoke rising toward heaven

One link severed, one friend gone, one bit of history signalling the clouds to rain.

another plank, another step gone, the reek of history, footsteps, no way home, invisible flame

Gaps showing, far side and near, flames catching, another plank, the river of time red below, no safe place to set my feet.

Unable to cross the burned bridge, unable to turn away, I will stand here forever.

waves.

Well, damn. I never come here, because I don't really write non-fic fic, so I hope you'll forgive the intrusion. In light of the beautiful poetry (Sail, Deb, damn, lovely) this seems doubly embarassing, but I was wondering whether I could ask your indulgence to have a wee look at a first chapter of a novel? It's not exactly lyrical, but I think it might work. Possibly. But I'd be grateful to know what you think. If that's okay.