Moby-Dick

Oh, so much effort for one shiny coin
The mariners about the Pequod must
Have thought, as watching Ahab bust a groin
And other parts, to spume if not to dust
In chasing his white whale. I make it sound
Exciting, quite a thrilling quest; alas
'Tis buried deep within the book, all bound
Up in a hipster's egotism. Blast!
The captain lost his leg once to a beast
His questing for revenge led him to parts
Far-flung and not well-known. Ah me. At least
I read it on my Kindle, strained no hearts
A-hauling it around, this Moby-Dick.
At last I'm done; now give me something, quick!

In Which I Scribble And Sketch

I'm working hard at my new challenge, which
Is something that I've never tried before:
A drawing ev'ry day. I've had the itch
To try since last year. Back then nothing more
Than the odd insect sketch came from my pen
(Or pencil, really, but these words still need
To fit the meter and the rhyme scheme when
I write a sonnet!). Now, as I proceed
I'm trying first to draw the people who
Do populate a novel which I write
These days with Adam Christopher -- not new,
That project, but it soon will see the light
Of day, if we continue at our pace.
So far this year feels like a caucus race!

NaNoThankYou, But Good Luck!

I've won twice, yea, but oh, the aftermath!
Two years have passed since my last victory
And I'm still editing -- and though my path
Is quite atypical, I still don't see
The benefit of yet more high-speed crap,
Which is what I produce this time of year
When I join NaNoWrimo. I'll still clap
For all my friends who do so, sip a beer
Whene'er you post new word counts (that's unless
I'm at my day gig, naturally). It
Is quite a fine thing, proving that you can
Write an entire novel, that you're fit
To keep on doing so. Ah, but for me
It's time to make what I've done fit to see.

In Which A William Gibson Character Haunts My Migraine Dreams

Hubertus Bigend, Bond villain and one

With whom I'd hate to tangle, you inspire

Such awe and dread as would cause me to run

The other way on seeing you. Admire

A thing I do and you'd cause me to quake.

Show any notice of me and I'll think

At first of hiding, but I know you'll shake

Loose anyone who had the pow'r to sync

What public data there is on me to

More esoteric sources, and would find

A way to make them use those talents. Who

Has ever told you "no"? You always grind

The edges off that "no" 'til it's a "yes."

It's good that you are fictional, I guess!

In Which I Team Up With @Ghostfinder To Mess With Your Pea Pickers, Pilgrim

The West is where I hang my tattered hat

At present, and, as of this morning, where

My next big writing project takes place. That

Excites me, and it pleases me to share

The news! My good pal Adam Christopher,

A voodoo steampunk master (horror, too)

Is teaming up with me (we did confer

This very morning early); our aim's to do

Up Weird West creeped-out fiction like no one

Has yet attempted. We are just the team

To do it, too, in process having fun

At vast unhealthy levels, it would seem.

So git those spurs on, little buckaroo,

'Cause soon enough something will holler "Boo!"

In Which I Hoist A Robot Vodkatini For @JCHutchins' Birthday

What can I say that's not already come
Forth on this page, how much I love mah Hutch?
His fiction curls my toes and strikes me dumb,
Whene'er a tktktk sounds off, as such.
Hey everybody, though, it's his birthday!
And we all know nobody does it like
Ms. Sara Lee, I mean, our J.C. May
We always be so lucky as to strike
Such gold as he pours out for us -- for free!
Not just in fiction but in clarion calls
To match his efforts, generosity
And sheer inventiveness. I've climbed the walls
Just trying here to properly express
How glad I am to know him. Hutch: success!

In Which Iambic Confetti Is Thrown For Phil Rossi

A troubador who scares one sexy is
Our dear Phil Rossi, but that's far from all,
There's music, too, when he reads one of his
Great podcast novels; that Virginia drawl
And growling voice is perfect for those tales.
If you'd prefer some print, here's Crescent, creeps
In space for all. I've gladly watched its sales
A-soaring; 'specially as our boy just keeps
On having wee ones. Piper joined the crew
Just days ago! And Phil's started a blog,
Not Just a Dad. You see why I say "phew!"
To top it off, he has a way with grog.
So all signs say his birthday will be made
Of finest win. Such shall be our crusade.

In Which I Am Slightly Late To Jeremy C. Shipp's Birthday Party

I fear that I'm a few short hours late

In wishing happy birthday to a man

Whose stories I love so. I feel less Kate

For not knowing till now. But I'm a fan

And better late than never, I shall say!

O Jeremy, your stories break my heart

And bend my mind in such a crazy way

How can I aught but love you, for my part?

I hope the gnomes and Mrs. J gave you

The day you wanted most, and that the clowns

That fill your attic kept well away, too.

May this next year be full of more profound

And lovely work to haunt us from your brain

To all our eyes and ears, is my refrain.

In Which I Squee For A Wonderful Guy

Today is Seventh Son Day, a long while

In coming. As we watch his numbers rise

With J.C. Hutchins, let us pause and smile

For him and us. At last our poor wee eyes

Partake in what our ears so long have known!

That baby-faced JC is sure no slouch,

That there's no pleasure quite like when our own

Do well. That sprawling out upon the couch

With paperback or Kindle is more fun

When it's a friend in there. Oh, JC, dear!

While Personal Effects was a delight

And brought the chills and of course brought the fear,

It's this one that feels like the triumph of

Your work and friends and all you've come to love!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Look Towards A Month Of Madness

October's near its midway point which means
A special month approaches - very fast.
My friends and I, oh such writing machines
Already, now prepare for that great blast
Of scribbling fury that's NaNoWriMo.
I have the germ of an idea in place
Thanks to a crazed white rabbit who with so
Small effort tossed it my way that my face
Just melted. Now I roar out: bring it on!
And hope that all of you will do so, too.
It's crazy and hard work but once it's gone
We have rare prizes, each: one bright, brand new,
If roughly written, novel, and the pride
Of finishing a project (somewhat fried).

In Which Vikram Seth -- and Lethe Bashar -- Make Me Feel Silly In More Ways Than One

Today I left my current reading back
At home, quite by mistake, but, lucky me:
I am compulsive, keep a mighty stack
Of books always. In my bag I'd a key
To at least one untasted universe.
Thanks to the same dear friend who hooked me on
Cao Xuecin, 'twas a novel, writ in verse,
By Vikram Seth, on which I'm simply gone.
I'm sheepish to say that The Golden Gate
Was new to me before Lethe mentioned it.
I'm stunned at the perfection of this bait
For keeping me from other tasks. Its wit,
So sly yet sad, has me laughing out loud,
Much to comrades' confusion. Hope he's proud.

In Which I Spend An Afternoon With Phil Rossi

Phil Rossi's book's great chart rush is today,

As I may have said once or twice before.

He's on Ustream right now and, yes, hooray

He's playing tunes and reading tales of yore.

I've died already to a nerdgasm

(Redneck-flavored) from when he up and played

A NIN tune "Hurt" with much more than just some

Cash-flavor (Johnny Cash, that is). I'm flayed

From watching him play through this set.

His book is doing well, and he's aglow.

MsInformation's there with me; we'll get

Him uncovered ere he decides to go

Off to the pub to drink and celebrate.

Huzzah for Phil! His novel IS that great!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Prepare To Help With A Chart Rush

Phil Rossi scares Scott Sigler, my shirt reads.
Today we help his book rush up the charts
At Amazon. It's just reward for deeds
Of podcast novel promulgation. Hearts
Have raced and pulses pounded as he's read
His creepy sci-fi tale to us online
For free. That Crescent's sure messed with my head.
And I can't wait to hold its weird, malign
And creepy goodness in my hands. I'll wait
Till thirteen hundred hours, E.D.T.,
Click over, order, then, O happy fate,
Go watch his online concert! Cover me
In happiness on his behalf. Go buy
His book and dig it. What a guy!

SONNET REVIEW: Jeremy C. Shipp's Vacation

A Lewis Carroll world is Jer'my Shipp's:
Its denizens are fiercer, though, and drag
Protagonists along on fearsome trips
Through their own minds and fears. Jeremy's bag
Of tricks is subtler than just monster tales.
A missing twin like dear old Phillip Dick's,
A revolution in the making, bales
Of unknown drugs and cultures, Meek and Tics
In endless war (the Third Word and the First)
Fog up this mirror world. Into this, toss
A hapless teacher, living out his worst
And dearest dreams at once. And while his loss
On this Vacation seems at first severe,
The affirmation he gains made me cheer.

Part Two of a Sonnet-Form Review of Brian Keene's Castaways, With Perhaps An Excursis On Keene's Place In Literature

I am a jerk, I'm willing to concede,
At least when it comes to the fate of folk
In novels. It fulfils in me a need
To laugh at gory deaths as at a joke.
Which is how Brian Keene's fam'ly stays fed.
I chortle like a ghoul through all his tales
As characters galore just wind up dead,
And each attempt at rescue just plain fails;
Not one of them will e'er escape his doom.
His stories are intended more to scare
Than to make my rude laughter fill the room.
I'm pretty sure, though, that he doesn't care.
He writes, we buy, both sides end with a win.
And, satisfied, we do it all again.