Writing can be a monster. It can lurk behind the thin life we walk. It can become so scary. A parrot you neglect. It can be your friend, but every day you ignore its calls for attention the chances double that it will bite when you reach out to pet it.
Why haven't you been writing? Because by the time I realized I wasn't it became too scary. It's not my pet at all, just some wild thing in my room. But there's this wild thing in my room. There's no ignoring that. So I sit at the opposite wall. Let it smell my smell. Let it get used to me. So we can be friends again.

Yes No Yes

There was another successful reading this Tuesday. Watermelon, prose, orange drink. There were a lot of new faces. Some of which were new to the city.

A young man in the back row told me that he had name dropped the Cyberpunk Apocalypse in his college application. The argument was that Pittsburgh was a good place to be a writer. I still find it amusing when I find that we've worked our way into resumes or applications.

On the writing front both Gunner and I are somewhere in the awkward post-first-novel phase where you hold the thing out like a toddler with some rock he/she/it found not sure what to do with it except maybe to walk up to one adult after another, hands outstretched, hoping someone will take it.
I'm reading through issue III of the Cyberpunk Apocalypse publication right now. It'll be out by the end of the month.

I can feel this blog entry petering out. There's nothing I can do. It feels so limp.

Gorsky Press event tonight!

Gorsky Press authors Mike Faloon and James Jay stop through the Iron City on their book tour. Mike Faloon will be reading from The Hanging Gardens of Split Rock, and James Jay will be reading poetry from his book The Journeymen.

Donations accepted for touring writers. Also, Cyberpunk Apocalypse resident Artnoose will take a break from straight-up zine reading by singing them.