Opening the Writing Drawer
Oh me, oh my, how quickly I abandoned my (earnest at the time) resolution to blog more frequently. I've noticed several writers who have dropped off the blog radar in favor of having more active twitter accounts. Not so here -- I just tend to drop off the Internet circuit and have trouble catching back up.
Don't ask me how many messages are in my inbox. If 30 messages or less is success, well, I've got a long way to go until I'm successful again.
But in the meantime, there's a very complimentary review of Haunted up over at Drive Thru, which makes me quite happy. (If you are a book blogger -- or are willing to post reviews on your Good Reads account or elsewhere on the internet -- and are interested in getting a review copy, comment here and I'll let you know how to do it!)
I also found some things in my writing drawer that I thought it would be fun to share, since I've not done much of that lately. This is from an art book project I did for Empty Room Studios awhile back; a few writers (mainly me and Andrew Schneider, who had a recent adventure appear in Dungeon here) wrote scene snippets for artists in various subgenres of fantasy and science fiction. This one was from a private eye meets interstellar politics mash up. The scenes were a great exercise -- and also a ton of fun to write!
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Don't get me wrong. There are good things to be said about working for space tyrants. The job may be difficult, but it's always lucrative. They pay in cash (or wire it into your account from an anonymous bank in New Switzerland), and they pay on time. They are nothing if not predictable.
Right away Myrah Deen, Tyrant of Saitoga, some inter-corporation built on the side of a half dead moon, defied my expectations. Where most Tyrants had a paunch straining their well-stretched belts, she had a petite waist surrounded by curves that might have been old-fashioned, but I'd always liked a curvy woman better than the waif that had cycled back into style. She wore her red hair sitting on top of her head, held by two silver pins that I highly suspected doubled as darts, as opposed to the traditional comb over. She also came into my office herself instead of sending some underpaid aide who would be disposed of after the fact if they heard anything too important.
I'd gone through her records. If she'd ever had anyone so much as detained on the edge of legality, her tech-clouds had better cover than even I could break through. When she entered, I stood, watching how the stars outside my window framed the wisps of auburn that fell around her chin.
"Ms. Deen," I said, and she nodded. "Pleasant surprise."
"I'm full of surprises," she said, straight like it was business, without a hint of coyness. Then she smiled and undid the whole effect.
"Gin?" I offered.
She watched me pour. "I don't drink," she said, took the tumbler, and downed it all in one throw.
Don't ask me how many messages are in my inbox. If 30 messages or less is success, well, I've got a long way to go until I'm successful again.
But in the meantime, there's a very complimentary review of Haunted up over at Drive Thru, which makes me quite happy. (If you are a book blogger -- or are willing to post reviews on your Good Reads account or elsewhere on the internet -- and are interested in getting a review copy, comment here and I'll let you know how to do it!)
I also found some things in my writing drawer that I thought it would be fun to share, since I've not done much of that lately. This is from an art book project I did for Empty Room Studios awhile back; a few writers (mainly me and Andrew Schneider, who had a recent adventure appear in Dungeon here) wrote scene snippets for artists in various subgenres of fantasy and science fiction. This one was from a private eye meets interstellar politics mash up. The scenes were a great exercise -- and also a ton of fun to write!
--
Don't get me wrong. There are good things to be said about working for space tyrants. The job may be difficult, but it's always lucrative. They pay in cash (or wire it into your account from an anonymous bank in New Switzerland), and they pay on time. They are nothing if not predictable.
Right away Myrah Deen, Tyrant of Saitoga, some inter-corporation built on the side of a half dead moon, defied my expectations. Where most Tyrants had a paunch straining their well-stretched belts, she had a petite waist surrounded by curves that might have been old-fashioned, but I'd always liked a curvy woman better than the waif that had cycled back into style. She wore her red hair sitting on top of her head, held by two silver pins that I highly suspected doubled as darts, as opposed to the traditional comb over. She also came into my office herself instead of sending some underpaid aide who would be disposed of after the fact if they heard anything too important.
I'd gone through her records. If she'd ever had anyone so much as detained on the edge of legality, her tech-clouds had better cover than even I could break through. When she entered, I stood, watching how the stars outside my window framed the wisps of auburn that fell around her chin.
"Ms. Deen," I said, and she nodded. "Pleasant surprise."
"I'm full of surprises," she said, straight like it was business, without a hint of coyness. Then she smiled and undid the whole effect.
"Gin?" I offered.
She watched me pour. "I don't drink," she said, took the tumbler, and downed it all in one throw.