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."