the mix is in

Just finished the final mix for the show. argh. brain cramps. I know I should have my friend Alan, the brilliant musician that he is, handle the musical chores but, to be honest, I couldn't afford him.

Rest assured that, at very least, my constructions are at least earnestly from my own tastes and style. And, when you listen to the show this week (I know you will, thousands do every week) pay attention to the subtle percussion line backing THE TRINITY CYCLE. I shift types of percussion between poems to give them all their own landscape.

I just got a marvelous letter from a former lover, discussing literary matters. We've had our ups and downs and a reconciliation in the real world is impossible (complicated to the Nth degree, cubed) but we remain collaborators. She is assisting me with the polishing of my novel, I am assisting her with her writings. She inspired the female lead in the book I am attempting to have out this year, so pay attention. Long time readers, yes it is the Goddess herself, Brigit, you din't think I'd stay angry at her forever, did you? I don't waste much time in forgiving people, I have enough baggage without being the bad guy.

Okay, no more pissing and moaning about the lack of romance in my life, I promise. Those who are of interest to me are either unavailable or disinterested, and I'm not into selling myself. If I ever get real lonely, there's always the poetry groupies, but I hate reducing my lovelife to a shadow. I'd rather just find one worthy and spend the rest of my life making her as delirious happy as humanly possible.

Is that so much to ask? In this graceless age, probably. But don't think the Amomancer isn't going to try.

(throwaway poem)

you can try. you can die.
you can grovel. or just fly.
patchwork wings of
leather and feathers,
solar sails the size of
gas giants and
no brakes.
I have to
run into planets
to slow down.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.