Em thinks it's horrible.

I think it's fun and interesting.

Playing with "The Ants Go Marching Home."

Really, just the line where the action happens (the little one stops to pick up sticks).

Something about worldwide conquest and spacecraft.

Now if only I could draw as well as I can visualize.

(The point)

SO I took the Hallows poem to the writer round up.

And while the response was positive, it was . . . cold.

Distant.

Unmoved.

It's the literary equivalent of an Audi R8. Mechanically splendid, yet lacking in passion.

If my reader walks away unchanged, unmoved, un-entangled, there's something I'm not doing right.

In the case of All Hallows, I left out the hook. I didn't jerk the line and set them into my world. I didn't even invite them into the parlor. I simply showed them a pretty picture through a thick glass porthole.

Which is fine. But the paintings you remember draw you in and wrap you in story.

I have to vent the atmosphere.

I must scuttle the ship.

Welcome to the island of my imaginings.

I love this post about forgiveness over on Art of Manliness.

The website decor evokes sandalwood soap, leather luggage and Edwardian gents with immaculate whiskers. Topics include shaving and the grooming of facial hair, selection and care of suits and hats and how to exhibit 'manly' behavior. And while I'm only a recent reader, I can't recall finding objectionable, gender-insensitive content. Well, some of the commenters on posts, but you can't blame the site for that.

Back to the inspiring post. Entitled "Is Forgiveness Manly?" and beginning a selection from Old E.A. Poe's Cask of Amontillado, the article explores the common misconception that masculinity is typified by balancing vendettas and dishing out ice-cold revenge.

Hop on over.

--

In a related quote, this from Mike Sares of Scum:

"Bitterness is a poison that you drink hoping someone else dies."

Original here.

Revision below.
--

All Hallows

The day begins to fade. We
breathe the crunching air
of autumn.

Fallen leaves from ash and oak
produce a hollow
musk, fraught with

fungus, spiced with pine. Cider
changed to winter's wa
ssail. We turn

to witness the end of light
into blue-black night.
Trees spread their

shadows. Lost in the woods, our
hope is in the res
urrection.

--

Taking this to this month's writing meet-up. When I looked back at the original, I found more that I wanted to say.

the saying: "It's hard to soar like an eagle when you're surrounded by turkeys."

Well, I understood the idea behind it, but not the blazoning of coffee mugs and desk paraphernalia, the emotional attachment some office workers displayed.

Now I do.

And, before I become too puffed up and resentful, I have to mention this: "Belief in one's Eagle-nature does not change your wattle."

Recently on FB, Travis Erwin solicited suggestions for tongue-in-cheek Top Ten lists in the ramp up to 10/10/10. My idea: "Signs you're new to Texas and trying too hard to fit in."

And he did it! Check it out at the link.

Today when I got to work, I found an e-reader in the lost and found. I figured I could turn it on and maybe find some sort of identification. Somewhere.

Ok, so I also wanted to play with it and be a little nosy.

I powered it on.

The screen flashed black, then resolved into words.

At the top of the page, this sentence:

I ripped his shirt and slid my hand into his breeches..

^How I learned not to be nosy.