I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, April 2, 2007

Story Bone

Like I said, some authors just kick my butt into gear. John Scalzi, I like him, but nada in the way of flow. I'm currently reading Kelly Link's Magic for Beginners (yes, I know, I'm probably the last person in the world, but I read most of them in the Year's Best and Fairy Reel, does that redeem me?). And the faucet is on, baby! Last night I finished The Hortlak and then this comes spilling out. Use if you can. I don't think I could keep this up for a whole story. If I took the time I could get the whole rhythm flowing, get the magic incantation meter kickin'. But then I'd use it, wouldn't I?

"These are not my hands. My hands are warm and strong and meaty. These aren't my hands. These thin and shaky, couldn't harm a fly, not able to grip hands, diseased hands, non-feeling hands. See how they rub together with no warmth, see how the cadaver fingers weave around each other, no magic, no spark. I don't care if they're on the end of my arms, these just can't be my hands. These hands didn't play guitar or put together a thousand erector sets, touch my wife and make love or bathe in the ocean. These aren't my hands with pain filled fingers."

2 comments:

Camille Alexa said...

Steve, I think you need to write this story. Really. It's in there, waiting to get out.

Steve Buchheit said...

I just don't know if I could carry that off for 2000 words or more. I'm still getting through "Stone Animals," by Kelly Link. Wow. Some sections just leave me cold, but then there are the others that are just, "Wow."