About a week back (more or less), I was witness to one of those curious interchanges that occasionally leapfrogs its way across social media. This one was about art. Insults …
“Please forgive us. We had no idea at the time of what was to come. After all, who really can tell what’s the difference between a banishing and a summoning. Who can? Not me. Not us. Not then.”
I’m going to have to remember to light a stick of incense, dig up the corpse of an unholy monster, sacrifice to the gods of the Everdeep or otherwise prostrate …
Working on a romance novel + the edits to Silence in the Chapel. Have submitted “No Love For Emily”. Finished the “Angel” script — have I mentioned Angel? Then there’s that nasty supernatural screenplay
Some people spend New Years Eve alone, some with family, some in celebration with a bunch of raucous strangers. Peregrine Dunn tends to spend his time in an upscale whiskey bar. In a version of L.A. where angels actually do come down to visit on Solstice, this is probably a wise thing.
Oh. “Bring us a figgy pudding; Oh, bring US a figgy pudding; Oh, BRING US a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer”
There’s a cave I was told about, long time ago. Plenty of people been in it; scrawled on the walls, smoked a little happy puff, played at being adults. Wouldn’t find a person who spent the night though. Reasons.
You are living in the middle of an artificial desert, created by people gaming with your life. You can’t go back to what was before because it’s gone and even if it was around, it wouldn’t sustain even a tenth of the people who are now here. This storyteller has a message for you. Let’s end this game and envision a new one to play.
I feel privileged to have had Shadowpath helped by so many talented people. Thank you to one and all who have been a piece of this!
The Solstice, the longest day of the year. In many places in the Northern Hemisphere, that means its blazing hot, sun beating down unreasonably though seasonably. Here, though, it’s a roll of the dice.