Tempting the Fates Again

So, I'm tempting them,
those evil witches Billenius fears,
daring the Parcae: do your worst,
as I try again writing
for NaNoWriMo this year.

Each year now past,
doing this unleashed their wrath,
as they tossed too much trouble
down upon this ol' boy
for him to succeed.

But this time around
there is already a job,
and shelter around my worn body
so I have a chance
no matter how slim.

Cheer me on, gang.
I'm letting my fingers dance
once more across this old keyboard,
and tell a tale
long percolating inside me.

A dash of Horror,
across broad brush of smut,
as I dabble into Erotica's realm,
on Science Fiction's broad canvas
trying for the win.

Fifty thousand words? No.
Aiming higher than that total,
say double this time around, folks.
But in the bitter end,
the Fates will decide.

For they are wicked,
those mean old weaver women,
spinning out skeins of my damnation
with challenges I never anticipated,
at least past years.

But, this time around,
I will keep on trying,
striving to meet the goals set
and surpass them if possible,
Lady Luck willing, hopefully.

See you in thirty,
or there-abouts depending upon
how much rest is needed afterwards,
for my annual griping session
about editing in Dismember.

29October2015 - A hopeful Dyfedd Rex, bracing for the worst three witches can toss his way.

A summary of my failures and successes...

So, sitting here this morning (several before this appears here), coughing and snorting as my allergy hell cranked up last night, I'm reflecting on my successes and failures at writing.

The success column adds up fairly fast, just a few things...
1. A short story in an anthology that is available in print and eBook form.
2. A drabble (100 word story) in an anthology eBook.
3. A short op/ed piece in an eMagazine.
4. Two poems printed in an obscure local paper hawked only by the homeless... but at least they saw ink and paper.
5. A blog that has been lighting up the last year, finally, as my perseverance paid off. Thanks to those visiting, bigger thanks to those who return or steer others to here to read poems, stories, or even my other writings.
6. did it mostly on my own, no real editors or beta-readers. Save the op/ed and the short... which still did not get much in the way of edit applied.
7. had a month where what I earned by pen kept me from flying a sign to survive. Not much, but I had my tobacco and coffee money, even enough for a couple of burgers between food bank visits.

Failures? Yeah, there are many... most were just personal goals...
1. Never got to finish the poetry collection. Still might make one last effort, but fear without a pro touching it for formatting, poems will still be very choppy in appearance.
2. My favorite poem still languishes with few hits... those reading this can use the favorites side bar to the right to choose to read "Deerboy on a Bicycle" and turn that around.
3. Never finished the edits on the stories I tossed up on the blog here, and over on Billenius and Scorpio blogs. My anger got the better of me, when my ears started burning, and the words doing it got back to me. Should have kept my temper, probably, but hell, I can start over on new projects to rebuild, if I get a chance.
4. Exile's Road really should have seen ink and paper... again, my impatience was at fault there... not so much impatience to see it out there, but the impatience over "fix the knife fight". Dude, most knife fights I've seen were over before I noticed someone on the ground. One to six stab/slash moves, all done high speed, by one side only, usually. (few folks have the guts to face another person who is also armed, and ready to dance.)
5. Never getting those Steam-punk stories fixed... they were good. And I think with some loving attention, I could have fixed them to at least the level Billenius's tales have.
6. Never moving on to "Words from the Curbs and Under the Bridges" a collection of poems and writings I planned to set out some of the issues and problems I saw during my time homeless.
7. Too many tales I had small starts or ideas on that got nowhere... or languished in hidden spots on my hard drive... found now only as I start a clean and back up move to clear this dying laptop for storage with friends. Sorry to those characters, for failing them.
8. Wish I'd finished the tales that you got only the starts of on the blogs... Blade of the Eagle Clansman, Predator's Ground's re-write, Payback War, Black Banner Red Banner, and some others. Wish I'd done that edit all the way through on Journey to Freedom, smoothing that tale out more, and moved on into Seas of Treachery and Waking the Stone Gods, been able to fix The Knife Has No Forgiveness, finish up the elemental demon saga for Scorpio... done more edits to Paths of Damnation, Chain of Sorrows (you'll see the parts I felt okay sharing come December, just to show I had something up my sleeve...). Lots of things started and never finished, partly from frustration at the job search failing (you need money to live on while starting a writing career) and partly from just being me...

Gray areas? Yeah, there are some... but that fog those things lie in leaves me hoping them move to the green column on my spreadsheet, or at least get me past skunk corner on God's Cribbage Board.

Does that spreadsheet of mine balance? How should I know, the jury is still out... and I may never know, unless things turn around in these final days amid a failed and broken society. never mind, that is something I need to save for my few rants against the way we are as a nation and world.

Well, Not sure what else I can say, other than hope you still read during this winter hiatus.. enjoy the stuff I have canned and queued up to fall on the blogs during it, Hope I come back with a better attitude towards myself, and the world, willing to pick up my "pen" and write once again.

Amid the Amids... A Poem of the toll I've suffered.

Amid the words,
there lay hope, once.
Now scattered to the winds
as some fools attack
tossed them aside.

Amid the dreams,
I once crafted words,
to build up the hopes
others still longingly nourished
to get something.

Amid the winds,
I still will wander,
watching the world from afar
as I sit, smoking,
seeking to recover.

Amid the storms
that have battered me,
the soul still yearns comfort
as I prepare now
to walk away.

Amid that soul,
stories still beg telling,
and I fight them back
telling them to wait
until peace arrives.

Amid the chaos
others created for me,
by turning me aside, rudely,
an island of peace
still does exist.

Amid the stars,
a tale slowly builds,
so I pack writing supplies
in case it springs
out of mind.

Amid my mind,
there is nothing left.
The grind broke the will,
the spirit, weeping, fled,
to seek succor.

Amid it all,
my fingers still dance
across keys, paper, and life
seeking to keep moving
as I fade.

Amid the silence
that soon shall fall,
others wonder why I quit
not seeing the effort
and its toll.

Amid the wilderness,
where I am headed,
there are no damned fools
or so I hope,
to crush me.

Amid those trees,
lulled by whispering breezes,
I pray my soul receives
just a small recovery
from his load.

22September2014 - A weary Dyfedd Rex.

Sitting here, just waiting,
the thoughts come again.
Am I so wrong?
Too demanding of speed
from a logjammed society?
The answer is probably
a firm, shouted yes.
Look through my eyes,
and that answer changes.

Four long, damned years
tint my strong views
on Society, Life, Fate
and many other things.
Eight Thousand plus applications
for jobs never gained,
roadblocks tossed before me
on alternate monetary paths.
Judge me not harshly.

I've taken my licks,
been kicked aside often,
and yet I rose,
dusted myself off brazenly
or tentatively, few times,
and dove back in,
to get my punches
tossed into the fray
my life has become.

Now, tossing in towel,
not just threatening it,
everyone seems so disgusted
but fails to see
my spirit is spent.
I've tried it all,
lied in those interviews
saying I would change
or told honest truths.

Few see my soul,
a barren desert landscape,
parched for some reward,
financial, spiritual, or other.
Instead they see "Quitter",
where really, there lies
a fighter who just
needs time to rest.
Free of any burdens.

So, enjoy the tales,
share poems you like
even after I'm gone.
Support those I followed,
offer a hand gently
to those still panhandling
and realize the truth.
There are two sides
to everyone's life story.

Now, I've got a tomato to eat,
so leave me in peace, smoking my pipe...
as I regroup and regenerate.

17September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Notice to those thinking I was just being a lazy bum the last few years.

The next two weeks, you get both barrels, nearly every project, as far as they got, though truncated in two cases, and some of the gems I was sitting on.

You don't write this much, to sell, waiting to build name recognition before tossing them out, or cut-off at the knees by a lack of support in the back up plan for surviving, without some serious, hard work. Research and effort both went into each work, so bite me.

But, at the same time, a Tip of the Hat to the few friends, on-line and real world, and one family member who stood beside me in the writings.

Call me late-for-dinner, but never call me lazy. My only laziness is in refusing to drive on, after all, it is hard to write over the pains starvation cause you to suffer. Let alone, the worries about the computer being stolen while you sleep, be it in the shelter or on the streets. Damned thing is too fragile now to suffer over another winter out in the cold, or I'd have held out on these, finished them and sent them off.

Grinding it out - A poem of life, writing, and the hunt for a job

Demons and ghosts haunt me,
as fingers do their dance,
seiving the tale from slime
that sloshes in my skull.

Dark thoughts bounce around, wildly.
The day of job applications,
and nights and monrings writing
are piling up without results.

Some is my stubborn attitude
about learning new fangled things
that morph about faster yearly
beyond my keeping up easily.

Each thing that goes wrong
seems like an evil indictment
against the paths I choose
to walk these gloomy days.

Characters' dialogue spins the wheels
amid the slippery brain matter
forcing me to slow down
instead of driving to end.

This is my long haul,
still going on these days.
Sixteen tons of doubt, despair
that leave you without hope.

Save those brilliantly clear moments
when things just fall right,
as the leaves up high
set the mountains on fire.

Fall is never my best.
Give me winter or summer
when I can do things
due to heat or snow.

Keep tossing out the apps,
persevere to finish the stories
and offer advice and help
for other writers out there.

This is my life, now.
Just a gathering of randomness,
set out by cruel fates
and the schedules of others.

Still, the words continue flowing,
burbling over the literary logjams
that my thought stream becomes
when things weigh me down.

Those words hold the promise,
and dreams still drive me
towards goals others laugh at,
even as I make progress.

Another tale accepted just recently,
and cajoling from some corners
that I crank out more
shows I was absolutely correct...

Writing my way back up
will work, before a job.
Though I have been wrong before.
And hope I am now.

18September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Why I write - A commentary on Life, Myself, and Society

This blog, the tales and poems on it, and the few times I rant and rave about things, all have purpose.

They get me through the travails Life tossed my way, the hurdles the Fates, evil wenches they are (sorry, ladies, but those three gals, no matter which Incarnations you chose, are wenches, serving up dishes oft better left untasted), lay on my path, and the many frustrations stemming from the seemingly (to me, and others in similar situations) excessive application of Murphy's Law to events affecting me.

I write to keep my sanity, to vent frustrations and hopes both. I write to show I won't give up, that I will find some way out, no matter how much rubble, trash, and other offal get thrown into this pit I'm in, cause I'm just too ornery to totally quit. Step back to regroup, maybe. Stand aside while assessing a situation, definitely time to write, just to see if what rolls out has an answer or that analysis gives you a better understanding of the wasteland I stand in.

And this is a wasteland. A place where Society has tossed aside members to, ignoring their concerns and the reasons they fell from grace. I see the dirty underbelly of our Nation, and it ain't pretty. In fact, the sight is mighty revolting. Not just the rampant crimes, garbed in clothes with blue and white collars both, but the foolish ideas, blind ambitions that drive us into bad situations, and worst, the pure, uncaring hearts of stone that so many have, while spouting words of Faiths that condemn that very attitude.

We can be better. All of us. You, me, our kith and kin, our neighbors, even our enemies and allies. But we fail to see where we can improve.

For me, it's all about the attitude. After over 8000 (yeah, let me emphasize that a bit, that is EIGHT THOUSAND, not a typo) job applications over the last four years, more than required to obtain the benefits many survive such a stretch for a period via Unemployment checks, I'm still trying. Yes, I often tell folks now I have a bet with myself that writing will start giving me money to live on before a job materializes, but that is just my pessimism talking, not optimism. That part of my attitude makes me keep tossing resumes to the winds, trying to find a steady job to live off of, instead of wandering away as I often threaten.

How does writing lift that optimism. Simple. Each view of this blog, and my others, tells me folks do care, might cut me enough slack to get a shot at rising back up, and best of all, it lets me take out frustrations, instead of on real folks, upon characters and words, to relieve the tensions between my ears and shoulders, that ache for some release. It also reminds me, each time I get a sale, a hit, or even just a comment, that I have skills never tried, ones just getting their first real shots as these fingers do their dance across the keys. A slim opportunity to use those skills to haul myself out.

So, don't laugh at the writers. At least they keep trying, plodding forward with determination and grit so many lack, who start something, or only talk up an idea, then let others do the work for them.

I'm here, I'm still trying, and will keep on writing, until the cold fingers of some destiny I have no clue about close on my throat, fingers, eyes, and mind, to rip me down as worm fodder.

So, lead, follow, or preferably, get out of my bloody way. If you don't, well, we writers have another form of revenge. Writing you into a tale, then claiming the resemblance is purely coincidental (that coincidence being you irked me just as I needed a character or event in a tale, and thus got immortalized in verse or prose). Or, better yet, to poke fun at you, and remind you that Satire is protected speech, and has a long, great history of being an agent of change.

So, tonight, when I write, don't laugh. After all, it might be something you'd enjoy, either reading yourself or watching others read, just for their reactions. And remember. I write to show I am not dead, not broken, just frazzled, but still slogging onward, to some goal I myself have no clue about, but it's out there. That, and to shut up the characters that my dreams and daydreams seem to keep spawning, having a fairly fertile imagination.

28August2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Work for that Money, Congress! - A poem of protest about Congress's lack of will to actually do their job!

Once more they fail us,
having no fear of punishments
for their misdeeds and follies.
This is the government we deserve,
for our apathy and own stupid acts.

Once more they leave us
hanging around to see if they can
at least find common ground
on one small thing: a budget.
But only their own raises matter.

Congress is a filthy word
a place of fools and thieves
setting out to bilk us all
of our own hard earned cash
to feather their beds a bit more.

One last time I speak out,
and tell you how to fix this!
Amend the Constitution, Folks!
Make it so they don't work
then they don't get paid...
.. just like most of us!

25September2013 - a Thoroughly Disgusted Dyfedd Rex.

War of Lag-trition - A poem of Gaming

I have a guilty sin,
yeah, I play video games.
And on I enjoy best
has me cussing constantly
as I die a lot now
from ugly lag spike hits.

My war of "Lag-trition"
comes at moments proving key
to the way the battle
flows and ebbs about me fast,
when that damned screen pops up
"Reconnecting to server", I sigh.

So if you play that game,
League of Legends, it is called,
have mercy on that Karma
who stands there dying often,
or runs back to our base,
It ain't all my fault these days.

Library wi-fi sucks,
with interruptions killing
my connection often,
as part of the war they wage
on the movie downloads
always clogging their system.

I die by "Lag-trition"
enforced absence foisted off
onto my game by chance
not my own intentions.
Not trying a feeder
to be, just seeking a win....
.. to get me some safe I.P.

11September2013 - Dyfedd Rex

What I'm working on presently... sort of. an Update, if you will.

Well, I am still working over chapter 12 of Billenius, doing the first drafts of "Crossing of the Shadow"
 and "Winds of the Flame Queen"  have a steampunk idea that is fitfully taking shape in notes and snippets, dealing with three separate tales from Troy Tanner of CRAPP, rethinking the ebook of poetry idea as I cannot resist sharing ones I should have held back for it, and considering a complete reboot of "Blade of the Eagle Clan" just to fix the issues that bug me the most.

For those not familiar with CRAPP, that is the Cleanup, Remediation And Paranormal Protection office from the EPA. The folks there tend to do the dirty work left after the zombies and vampires are dead, the werewolves tossed into the pound or other such events. I might share a toss off tale soon, unless one gets snatched when I toss them out later this summer to see if I can get some cash from one. Right  now the three tales working are "What I Lost Last Week (Three Partners)", "Case of the Obese, Food-Poisoned Vampire", and editing "The Great SoCal Vampire Dust-bowl Cleanup". I am thinking over his origin tale called, tentatively, "Wading into the CRAPP".

I am also seriously looking at another rewrite of a tale for a character called Neville Carteblanche, a sci-fi setting detective in an era when detectives, even law enforcement ones, are rare or missing.

Last, I am getting the urge to dust off a character called Jonathan Pershing Rackham for a tour of the star systems we live near, or as he sees them at least, while scavenging and pirating around in space.

While over the horizon looms a hellish project, a rewrite and edit of something called "Chain of Sorrows" about a contemporary and friend of Billenius.

Yeah, too many projects, not enough coffee or brain power to do it all, and limited resources interfering with it all. But I keep trying. Hell, you don't know you bit off too much until you choke after chomping down.

Misuse of Impressive -

"Your skills are certainly Impressive.."
just don't pay the piper,
as the job search continues
for permanent place in society
and a return to stability.

Impressive is not the word
you really should use there.
Stop stroking my broken ego,
and build it up instead
by laying out job offers.

If I really made impressions
besides in the psychic ground
they would not be shaped
like that famed Coyote's form,
despite my affinity to him.

At least the stray cats
loan me a few lives,
or a bit of agility
to land on my feet
despite the spills I take.

This is the daily pain
as the homeless guy tries
to get back on track.
You fight through the depression
to stay positive about Life.

So I write my stories
to channel the pain away
into a safe emotional dump.
But still I keep trying,
with those immortal military words....
   ... "Eff it, drive on."

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (Still trying)

Playing with Weather Magic - A poem of Warning

They asked, despite my warnings...
Knowing I can touch clouds
twisting them to my desires
my family begged for precipitation
even as I reminded them
of the storms such stir.

Cupping hand over trembling hand
I felt the ley lines
racing through the skies above
hairs raising as power surged
through fingers that twitched about
seeking to make them respond.

Now the results land there
the weather folk speak up
about the mixing of elements
to build a storm there
but I know the Truth...
I touched the forbidden powers.

Our storm faltered out here
shredded by my questing reach
to bend the weather around
make it do my bidding.
So now the fury roars
across the prairies of home.

So, tomorrow as you shovel
amid the cold, howling winds,
I remind my kinfolk sternly
and my kith as well
be careful what you wish
for Murphy messes up magic.

19December2012 - Dyfedd Rex

Other Economies Yet Untaxed... a poem of the streets.

There are economics beyond any measure
that any Treasury man can wrap in numbers
transactions done in the shadows deep and dark beyond view
where the little men try breathing free
not bound by paper and plastic.
There things are measured much differently
not just in dollars and cents as others
but by rollies, bags, sandwiches, cans and other food items
as we trade what we managed to score
amid the streets and work done.
And if they ever try taxing
I want all that back monies owed me
for denied services, pay and other compensations I lost dout on
over this last year and those from before
so please, make that effort.... Fools.

(31May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Why I Waterboard my Characters - A poem inspired by Billenius today

He sits calmly sipping his tea,
the gaping wounds I inflicted aimed
like the bores of cannons unseen
into my soul seeking his revenge
for being the poor whipping boy
I take out my frustrations upon.

Angers he grounds into the stones
and words are broken upon shields
raised to keep him safely insulated
from more dangers, yet failing constantly
as I toss into his roads
sinkholes of doom and ravenous beasts.

Billenius sits calmly through it all
sipping that tea when chance allows
waiting for the arrival of Revenge
in that perfect moment of terror
when he says after I save...
..."Oh, you meant what really happened?"

(21May2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Written in memorial of all the times Billenius seems to speak a different tale when I go back to edit... and yes, I hear him say that with a soft chuckle of evil in his throat.... which is why he gets beat up so much.

Don Juan vs. the Naughty Naked Ninja-Nuns

With a flick of the thumb
cards riffle out on the table
the players relaxing for a while
their wimples pushed back off hair
left mussed and really charged up
sipping Gin and Tonics while playing
a game named for the booze.

When enters from Hell's broken gates
that wicked libertine of worldly renown
the man from the Iberian Peninsula
seeking more wenches to be remade
as notches in his notorious belt
and thinking these sultry sinful sisters
might just fill that bill nicely.

Now these were no mere mortals
yet not raised up to goddesses,
still to dare make a pass
at Naughty Naked Nuclear Ninja-Nuns
is not something I would recommend
heed this tale to understand why
oh secret reader of perverted tales.

Now Don Juan made his offers
not to one at a time
but all in bed at once
which rarely stirs the ladies hearts
outside certain shady literary genres
which lead to a flat rejection
voiced by all in unison monotones.

But that wicked and horny Spaniard
could not get the message connected
to any part of his mind
and pressed his suit (and body)
over the ladies despite earlier warnings
from demons so dire even Satan
leaves them to their own devices.

Gentle ones close your delicate ears
for that sparked the violence indeed
setting in motion flesh and wood
in the dance school children fear
as knuckles and more delicate parts
were sought out by whistling rulers
striking with Atomic Bomb powered smacks.

Now here is what sets fools
apart from the rest of us,
for this only made our villain
more aroused and determined to succeed
instead of severely psychologically traumatized forever
as he presented his case again
only to offer a new target.

Bared flesh now glistening with exertion
blazed through the air like birds
doing an intricate ballet of pain
as feet and fists lashed out
seeking groin and their foe's backside
specifically the part used for sitting
as highly explosive impact bull's-eyes.

When latter he recovered back below
unable to get off his feet
for the next many long weeks
he found out about modern tech
as the video was endlessly replayed
showing his inglorious and embarrassing defeat
being de-pantsed by Ninja Nuns.

The moral to this woeful tale
is never disturb the naked ladies
for they may be deadly servers
of the Fate you richly deserve
for actions against the fairer sex
that were never solicited or encouraged
thine fundament may indeed be kicked.

(28Apr2010 - Dyfedd Rex)

　

Gazes that begged for someone to start something - an older poem..

Eyes met,
and that was all for the moment
they both looked away shamed
that there was no reason at all
to move to the other.

Eyes met again,
This time the longer stare
of one measuring the other
with the distance between
still a daunting chasm.

Eyes met thrice,
longer locking of the watchers'
orbs in the test of willpower
each desiring the conversation
neither with the courage.

Eyes meeting again and again
throughout the night as the bar fills in
and the chasm grew to greater width
glints in eyes begging to move but each
waiting on the other.

Eyes gaze one last time
each sad the other showed no interest
in outward signs they could read
to meet and make desires bloom,
and thus part ways...
                                  ...forever?
(2010) Dyfedd Rex
This one came from a challenge of sorts, it was some word someone found, in another language about gazes that convey meanings... I liked the imated, and this poem formed around it. Some day I will come back and play with the word choice and punctuation.... but not now...