The Force is the Force, of course, of course, and no one can horse with the Force of course--that is of course unless the horse is the Jedi Master, Ed ("Stay away from the Dark Side, Willlburrrr...")!
(Note: I accidentally posted this before it was complete. If you read it and it didn't make sense in parts, or seemed to end abruptly, please re-read it. I've probably fixed what was bugging you)
I have a few drabbles I'd like to post as an ongoing anthology, much like Bad Horse's The Twilight Zone. And I was hoping to work a deal with one or two of my followers for some cover art.
But, um, you see, it's...
Well it's complicated....
Just watched If I Were King again, this time with Rarity Chick who's never seen it before. And I noticed the name of the Cinematograper:
Theodore Sparkuhl.
No relation, one assumes.
You know that line. You know the voice behind it: a breathy, lightly-accented English baritone that suggests a poet, but a poet with a wrist of steel. It’s been parodied almost to death, used as the voice of cartoon characters and cereal mascots…
Odie Cologne, whose voice you can hear here.
I've gotten a passel of great comments on my premier story--lots of lovely compliments and several thoughtful critiques. But the loveliest and the thoughtfullest was an entire Shakespearian sonnet by one SongCoyote:
The shine of stones is rich with sweet allure
The structure, full of secrets, pulls my mind
It's already gotten some very kind comments, a number of Favorites, and one sonnet (!)
I would like to thank everyone who took time to read it, and I would do so personally except that knocking on your doors in the dead of night would be creepy. Also I have to go to bed now.
I am already working on my next story, "The Wind from a Burning Bookworm," a comedy of forgiveness.
Thank you all again! I will be very busy tomorrow but I hope to be online off and on.
...as Spike and Buffy.
(The only thing potentially better than Gomez and Morticia...okay, actually not but still good).
"Master, have you ever been in love?"
"Oh yes, many times...Plato...Aristotle..."
Umberto Ecco, The Name of the Rose
To love even a living author through their works is to be something of a Dante to their Beatrice: you will treasure their every word, think about them constantly, praise them to whoever will listen--and they will never know who you are.
It's been a rough week. Everybody have a hug:
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