Flash in the Pan: A Poem

The last two days have been a whirlwind I won't soon forget. As a result of a highly successful promotion on BookBub, my novel STRINGS managed to reach the top 500 in the Kindle store (it peaked around #331, not that I'm counting, and #6 in horror -- sharing the Top 10 with The Shining and Doctor Sleep -- and #6 crime thrillers, my first time ever ranking in that particular category), and I managed peak at #12 for horror authors (one of only two women--V.C. Andrews was around #16, I believe--in the Top 20). We also sold several hundred copies of the book. Figures are still coming in, but let's just say that in 24 hours, we moved more books than I sold of all my titles last year and probably the year before, combined.










Of course, the magical fairy dust eventually wears off with these things. As of right now, the rank is slowly coming back down to earth (#534 and falling, oh the humanity). It's a slow moving roller-coaster, but it is a roller-coaster nonetheless. Gravity is a certainty for all but a very special few. I decided to write a poem to reflect this particular. As usual, I must warn you all that I am not a poet. I write stories for a reason, so don't judge me, bro.




Flash in the Pan





I dined with the immortals

A rare and dangerous feast

They told me secrets of their years

During courses that never ceased




Aperitif of stars and galaxies

Entrees of mountains and flame

The wine was an ocean tide

A digestif of pure acclaim




I sampled every course

My stomach fit to burst

Then they laughed and cast me from their table

"Silly girl, you're not the first"




One meal only, that's the deal

Few are meant to stay

Remember how it tasted, the world upon your tongue

A most ephemeral array





Humbled, I long for it now

The taste of a thousand ages

I'm left to savor God on my lips

And hunger for gilded pages