Writings

My efforts are primarily focused on technical writing. I am good at it, but that is not where my heart is. Except for a couple of tongue-in-cheek poems, usually produced to let off steam, I write fiction.

My novel: I have done extensive research for a convoluted historical fiction-mystery-occult novel. Having discovered that research is fun and writing is not, progress is slow. I'm occassionally embarassed to admit I'm writing a book. Then, I discovered that writing two books is easier than writing one, and I launched into the planning stages of a second plot.

National Novel Writing Month: I participated in the 2001 National Novel Writing Month project, where the hapless, or just plain crazy, each write a 50,000 word novel in a single month. The first and only chapter worth keeping from 2001 is available here. I did not learn my lesson, though I did switch genres, and participated again in 2002 and 2003. Anything that generates a good idea or two and jumpstarts my efforts on "real" projects can't be all bad.

Freelance writing: I co-authored Tribebook Wendigo Revised for White Wolf Publishing's "Werewolf: the Apocalypse" game.

Divination Text is the full text for my version of a tarot-like deck of cards which are slowly taking shape as visual images. Now that I've left it alone for a while, I can see it needs another revision or two.

Dorothy Parker
Are spirits ever truly slain?
Reading the works of Dorothy
I recognize a kindred pain.
An elder originator of me?
A new, old life and yet apart.
We share a view or two
On life, bastard men and art:
Welcome distractions, but all too few!
Her caustic wit? Slower here, but as terse.
As for plays and poetry
I never cared for verse,
But make exception for sly Dorothy.
Connection found, is there some warning I should heed?
Sifting through her lessons and poems light and shrewd,
Dorothy speaks to me indeed,
"My disciple, girl, you're screwed."

Contractor's Song
When I find myself with paperwork offended,
I remember this and hurts are mended:
For though daily I am in their power,
they must pay me by the hour!

While I scurry, fret and fume,
and chores arrive to fill the room;
I know my timesheet will record the day,
And in the end, tis them that pay!

And so I beg, remind me friend,
These harried days all find an end;
And though I am tamed for all to see,
Yet they are merely renting me!