Ever Bethany

Over the weekend, two pieces were released into the wild.

First, "Kami" in Strong Verse
which is my first published poem about my Japanese hometown, which makes it extra special.*

Next, hfqezine has released their July issue.
"Advent of the Apocalypse" is one of the last hurrahs of writing poetry treatments on a theme, for me, and it took a major rewrite to get it to an *interesting* one. I'm pretty pleased with it. Yes.

Let me know what you think!

*a photo of a place that may be the one I'm writing about. I can't be sure--it's in my town, that much I have discerned from the Chinese blog post about their tour of Yonezawa...

I knew Heroic Fantasy Quarterly was a nice magazine, but I hadn't realized--it's the sort to get people reviewing its issues.

And someone reviewed my poem, in particular, along with the stories in the issue!

I...have never had anyone review anything of mine without a critique request before. This is amazingly exciting!

Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Scores a Homerun

part of what Keith West said about it:

"I don't read a lot of contemporary poetry these days, but then most contemporary poetry doesn't have this kind of power.  Powell captures the tone of bitterness and loss perfectly."

I...uh...I.
am kind of speechless.

Eggs Under the Moon by Elizabeth Barette
a light poem that borrows recognizable Earth-imagery for a fantasy concept, to bring home the importance of that same seed.

This poem is on the YA podcast my story is going to appear in, "Cast of Wonders". So yay!


The True Poem by Serena Fusek

This is a story of when I read this poem, I immediately thought of one I wrote and said to myself, "This is what I was trying to do, but didn't make it." Which is an odd mix of envy and inspiration, but not a bad thing. A visceral song of the making of songs.

(from the link you'll need to scroll down to see the one I am commenting on: both are excellent.)

***
And lest you think I was becoming too serious for you,
let me introduce B.A.P. They're a new baby boy-band. I want to adopt them and steal their clothes.



Aren't they cute? The one vocalist with that fantastic gravelly voice is actually an adult, but the other rapper is about 15. eeeeeee. Behbeh rappers!

...I know. Something is wrong with me.

My poem has gone up on Polu Texni!

I hardly recognized it--sometimes it's so long before it actually goes up, and it's been even longer since you really reviewed it instead of just sending it out to another magazine...

Do you like it? I'm not sure what I think of it now. X)

My poem's up!

This week's Chizine update includes Bethany Powell's "My Skull, The Garage" and happily, I'm not the only one with a lighter tone in this segment.

Chizine's putting together this rolling super-issue as a promotion and I donated my poem as an "alumni" [chuckles at the idea], so if you can throw some change in the tip jar, that'd be great for them and other writers who send them stuff...

but just check it out and enjoy!

Guys, it is GORGEOUS out right now.

Seriously, I used to be a traditionalist about clothing, but in my mellow old age today is one in which we bust out the boyfriend shorts and flannel shirt in tribute to my early 90s childhood.

Also, I've figured out what is wrong with the Archivalists. Basically, after nailing that fourth attempt at an opening for it, I went back and wrote the rest of the book like the openings I'd come up with earlier. It needs to be darker, with more locks on the doors, and tougher life conditions for the girls.

I need my heroine to be able to get a lighter out and flaming before a gentleman gets his own, to flirt with him. To be able to pull off that gesture.



...this is literally the scene-idea that caused my epiphany about what I was doing wrong the last 50 pages. My brain works SO WEIRD.

I don't know how long I'm going to be able to hold off Vigilants--I wrote the first couple of pages Saturday, but I know I have to get a bit more knowledge of what I'm doing for the alternative history song-and-dance I decided to throw in instead of learning about the real New York City.
:hello shameless:

Lastly,
 I wrote a poem.
It's been a while, actually.
Any notes on it are welcome!

It is a good thing I decided to focus on poetry as well as novel-writing, and forget word-count, because this novel is apparently not one to be rushed.

What is it about gaslamp debutante secret order fantasy novels that needs to be deliberated, I wonder?



If you want to glance at today's poem it is over at my aptly spider's web themed poetry blog, since it collects much dust most of the time, gossamer_spun 
Today I wrote Days of the Reaper, you can add the journal if you want to look at the poems I'll be working on this month (haha) and you are most welcome to give critique.

Lots of the poems up there are f-locked, so...if you add me I'll add you back so you can see them.

Road by Anti-Pati-ya

This image was one I found in the last few weeks while looking for images to inspire my next book, but if I were to choose any one of the pictures I collected on DeviantArt to symbolize Letters to My Nemesis, this would be it.

If you want to be a first reader for this book, I'm looking for a handful of volunteers to start the process.
Summary: Abi's chosen for a friendly tournament with the next neighborhood over, an event that draws a lot of attention online.

She's also a drop-out just returning to school at 18 and old gang-enemies are trying to start wars with her in class. She also has to figure out her destiny as someone who is bright enough to do anything, but has a major talent for something she hates with a passion.

***

This is not the first time this is happened, but it's more dismaying to have it happen again than to have had it happen once.

I just read a poem much like one I wrote (and, in fact, just submitted somewhere) that's almost exactly what I was trying to say, but one step further. And it's just so much better.

Raven by Theodora Goss in the current issue of Goblin Fruit

If you know where I saw the Cupid and Psyche one that blew my mind and shattered my pride, I can't believe I don't remember where it was...

***

In happier news, here are some stories that are just gorgeous, and made me love webzines that can publish stories of the kind I like. Fantasy Magazine, for example...

Stone Flowers by Aiden Doyle
which is sad and luminescent and...well, smells right. The description put me square in a place I know, but told me a story I didn't.

Bloodlines by Silvia Moreno-Garcia actually made me think of you, rhinemouse 
is harsh and dark but also sweet. The heroine's way of talking is the only thing that tells you the kind of person she is, and I can picture her so clearly.

And rhinemouse  herself is apparently my theme for the week published a great fae story
in Under Ceaseless Skies, as Rosamund Hodge, because that is her name
More Full Of Weeping Than You Can Understand
which is also sad and luminescent but then harsh and bitter, too, but most importantly vivid with feeling though the main character has none.

***

Month of Books will resume tomorrow!

Yesterday, there was this poem, which is still very rough, but at least close to the shape it will end up--not true of the two previous drafts: Contrast of Spirit
which is inspired by angel/fallen angel imagery, though by no means sating my hunger to deal in that theme.

And today there was the completion of this lyric:

November Storm

Sharp, black wings
I can see you spreading
Frail curved flight
I can see you drifting
--Aloft in the storm

Silver sky--the world is a colorless wonder
Folding air--the clouds are a silken train

Sharp, black wings
I can see you spreading
Frail curved flight
I can see you drifting
--Aloft in the storm

Jagged trees--barbed branches whip and creak
Dried, bare stalks--fields skeletal with weeds

_The earth is ancient and I sense my own bones
_The roads are bleak and I know I'm not home
_The coming rain will chill my heart, my soul
_But one stray bird has made it worth the storm

Sharp, black wings
I can see you spreading
Frail curved flight
I can see you drifting
--Aloft in the storm



~
Can't wait until this song and Night Train are ready, and I can make people listen to them. >D

My steampunk novel simmers, sticky there
and ready, launching evolutions strange
And brass lamps, mist and bursts of flame now haunt
The crannies of my mind to birth, devour.


This is actually an exercise in iambic pentameter from The Ode Less Travelled. I've been inching my way into it, in my endeavor to take myself more seriously as a poet. More seriously, as opposed to very seriously. Because I hate it when I take myself too seriously.
    {Most poets on the forums seem to be so sensitive and so rude. Sound like an explosive combination? It is...and sometimes I'm the only one who knows how critique. Which means yes, I am the spark in the powder keg. You wouldn't know it to look at me.}
I got ahead of the game and used both enjambment AND caesura (which the British author says is spelled cesura in America, which I think a crying shame) but that's just because it all comes so naturally. Also, I was getting bored

I do not pick up the poetry-writing book if I have a great poem of my own to write instead.

If the "sticky" seems a little obscure, this is my favorite phrase for the time of novel development when whatever you come across gets sucked into the cohesion of the budding story. I got it from Jennifer Crusie.

And I don't have a steampunk novel. Yet. I'm finding influences for it everywhere these days, though.


Speaking of Steampunk:
Dickens on the Boulevard

Claremore Mainstreet Association does an event every year with a small artisan's village, Victorian period dress contests, and dancing. (Virginia Reel, waltzes...)
And my family, because we are sick and almost always sacrifice ourselves for dubious causes, have decided what our event contribution is this year. (Year before last it was a pro-Abolitionist play. A period schoolroom last year. Or maybe that all needs to shift back, not sure.) We are creating:

A Steampunk Smoking Room
Where there will be no smoking, because of various laws and expectations of society. (At least...not much.)
But it will be Steampunk!
We will be providing a rest area and mission center for the street-urchins who play carols on the sidewalks, an alternative aesthetic (read: a change for the Powells) and an environment for conversation which the rest of the event distinctly lacks.

I was going to pretty this up with pictures, before I found that I had none. Even the Internet failed me. Whatever that means...
So I am reduced to what every self-respecting but thwarted Aesthete must do: CHEAT.



I would say it looks rather like this, only darker and more indistinct.
Speaking of which, can you believe Daylight Savings time doesn't end until November? Gah. The sun doesn't rise until 7:45 these days, and that is just wrong so early in the year.

If you're local, let me know if you're interested in being at Dickens!