Patrick O'Scheen's Blog, page 21

Dragons Don’t Hide Well

I think that I will never see,

A poem as lovely as…Hey Wait! What are you doing in my yard? Stay off my lawn!

Courage

Sitting here thinking about my new release, I feel exposed. I imagine it’s what every writer feels publishing the words that sprung so readily from the heart. We know some people won’t like what we say, or they will find fault with our use of language. No one can please everyone. However, it takes bravery to give a novel to the world…like sending a child away from home for the first time.
It might not seem so much an effort to those who have not done it, or those who have written without the force of commitment. An author’s reasons for producing their work can be varried. For a person who is called by the words, no matter the intent, there is a strong tie between writer and story that is almost an attachment.
We live with the words for days, months and even years before we let our readers see them. We hoard them, refine them, adjust them, coddle them, make them whole. Every time I finish a story I contend with a deep sadness that it’s over, wanting it to last forever.
The only way I know to give it a life beyond my own doorstep is to release it into the world and hope against hope that it survives and is loved.

Thr Way Home

It sometimes doesn't seem like much, but in truth we are all seeking it...a way home, a way back to the certainty of belonging. Some of us seek it through prayers, some through a desire for acknowledgement. Others find it, if just for a brief while, with families and lovers.
Acceptance is a drive, a basic desire sometimes as great was hunger or warmth.as a writer I refuse to let it control me, but at what cost?

Courage

Sitting here thinking about my new release, I feel exposed. I imagine it’s what every writer feels publishing the words that sprung so readily from the heart. We know some people won’t like what we say, or they will find fault with our use of language. No one can please everyone. However, it takes bravery to give a novel to the world…like sending a child away from home for the first time.

It might not seem so much an effort to those who have not done it, or those who have written without the force of commitment. An author’s reasons for producing their work can be varried. For a person who is called by the words, no matter the intent, there is a strong tie between writer and story that is almost an attachment.

We live with the words for days, months and even years before we let our readers see them. We hoard them, refine them, adjust them, coddle them, make them whole. Every time I finish a story I contend with a deep sadness that it’s over, wanting it to last forever.

The only way I know to give it a life beyond my own doorstep is to release it into the world and hope against hope that it survives and is loved.

Joy and happiness

“Your a word expert,” my friend pronounced to me loudly enough that it drew my attention from the book I was reading.

“I’m no expert,”I denied.

“You’re a writer.  Good enough,” he paused as I raised my eybrows. “What’s the difference between joy and happiness?”

I puzzled for a few moments and then discovered that I did indeed have an explanation, whether right or wrong. “Happiness is based on the external. At least to me, joy comes from within. You can be joyful and weep at the same time.”

My friend pursed his lips in apparent distaste. “You’re weird.”

I met his gaze. “I know.” 

The Great Desert

Sand and sun are shimmered by blasting heat. The giant skull of a once great beast rests silently forever asleep.

Transformation to Dragon

Imagine your entire body shifting, changing, taking on a completely new form. Skin turns to scales, hair to spikes and whiskers.

New Book — Kris

New Book — Kris.

Hard at Work

So there I was, minding my own business and sitting in the road when someone asked me if I was working… “Sure,” I mumbled a few colorful adjectives under my breath. “I always work like this.”

New Day

Sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed. I reach for a glass of water that sits nearby on a small table and wish that thirst was my only problem. Pivoting gently sideways, I try to stand on feet that won’t quite follow my orders. I fight the pain and rise. It’s going to be one of those days.

I was up way too late last night with images of stories dancing in my brain. The new book was ousted by another tale of fiction that I am driven to sketch out before I lose sight of the nuances of the plot. Compelled by voices in my head to hit the keys at my computer, I tap out a quick reference to a story that I may never tell and then find my way to the kitchen with difficulty.

Coffee lavishes my tongue in a bath of instant wake up goodness. Suddenly the daylight streaming through the blinds seems brighter and the day has more possibilities. It’s amazing what that first cup can do.

I’m alone this morning so today will be filled with text and typing and hopefully I’ll finish a letter I was writing to my publisher. Although my cat says otherwise, now armed with coffee I sit down at my keyboard again and focus on my ongoing projects and my new blog. This computer is how I will face the world.