A bit of “local color.”
…
DISTAL MUSE – OBSERVATIONS, OPINIONS, EPHEMERA, & VIEWS
Steel-trap smiles made room on the stage, a shuffle of seats, a place where chances die or lives are made, all the welcome of the seen-it-befores and the willingly-impressed, squeezed into a need for the new, hope for discovery, and fear of not-good-enough.
The room itself prepared for betrayal, but the ears plugged back into the main artery, on the off that something might open a vein or just shut out the silence.
The Kid opened his case and took out a pair of hands. Everyone gasped at the tendons and callouses, the length of the reach and the curl of long use. …
Smoke pirourettes around the shrinking shapes of idle speculation. Ritual anticipation settled for the inevitable triage of experience and achievement, dues and wisdom, invitation and exclusion.
Sax throated obligatory admiration, mood recycled in reserve, and the shadows pressed faceless to the glass, watching the shark-moves of truth encircled by motifs, melodies, modes, and measures.
Do you even know, they asked, what it is you want to say, never mind how to say it? Do you have a mouth to match your measures? Chords for your chords, a tongue for your tune? The heart for your beat?
The Kid folded his wings, shuffled his stand, arranged his perspective, and raised his sites.…
I hung out in a small spot of night on the fringes of No Smoking and Adults Only.
Thick air, eighty proof attitude, and shadows that kept your seat for you during intermissions.
The stage belonged to a round of changing keys, facile fingers, and moods found in forgotten closets, abandoned buildings, after hour garages, and overlooked streets, brought in by saxes, axes, horns, and skins wearing misery wrapped up in puzzles, suits that only glowed in moonlight, who spoke in tongues unheard by day.
One night they were handing out faces to the smiling, voiceless crowd, laying foundations for towers that never rose, sending messages in forgotten codes, when the Kid walked in, case under his arm, hat cocked, eyes clear behind opaque wisdom no one sought. …
But not depressed. Just tired. Sort of a twilight feeling.
I’m working on the last chapter of The Spanish Bride, an action/historical mystery/thriller/etc set in the uncrowded days of 1780s St. Louis. This is about the fifth draft now and I think it’s ready. Just one more chapter.
This is always a dangerous point in the process. I see that finish line and I get anxious, I want it to be done, but the last stretch of a novel is where all the promise is supposed to pay off, so you shouldn’t hurry it up.
It will be fine. …
On Thursday, July 21st, I gave a talk at the Daniel Boone Regional Library on the nature of science fiction. I had a good turn-out, the room was almost full, and the talk was generally well-received.
I used a comparison I’ve grown used to deploying, comparing Star Wars to something else and pointing out how it is not science fiction but rather a quest fantasy dressed up like SF, which is not at all uncommon, but can be confusing when talking about the differences that make SF unique. Normally, this point gets across without too much trouble and for that reason, perhaps, I’ve grown a bit complacent in how I present it.…
I sometimes get so caught up in all the cool things I can do with color now I forget the simpler yet often deeper pleasures of good black & white. I’ve mentioned often enough that, photographically-speaking, my influences all spring from the pool of talent surrounding and comprising the f64 Group, a legendary coterie of pioneer photographers from the 1930s and 40s. I’ve spent many a lazy afternoon in a dark room with trays of chemicals and an enlarger and a selection of negatives, reveling in the creation of textures and tones. There is still something magic watching a white sheet of paper “grow” an image in solution, the latent photon-affected silver salts tarnishing in a couple of minutes into the order and definition of a photograph. …
Not much specifically to tell. I’m still deep into rewrites (and having a genuinely good time of it—there’s nothing quite like solid, professional feedback!) and there are some things on other fronts that are not quite ready to announce, so…I thought I’d just post a few new photographs.
Within walking distance from my home there is a strikingly variegated landscape. Conforming neighborhood with unique houses, a main street with several ethnic influences, and an industrial district with a mix of thriving and defunct businesses. Thought I’d post a few of the latter.
Now back to rewrites.…