November is upon us.

It is October. The leaves are changing colors, from green to orange, they wither and die. They give up on life and jump from their branches where they lie helpless until passersby trample them underfoot or the wind whooshes them away at a whim. School is well underway and students bemoan their professors and complain about how much homework they must do. And November looms large in my mind. NaNoWrimo is comes again. I'm not sure if I'll be able to finish it this year. I'm in a few classes that are taking a lot of my writing time. One of them is a Creative Writing class, so at least that's good. I'm still going to try. I've got a pretty cool story idea that I want to try out. It's comic bookie-ish idea. My premise is that the villains have won, super heroes are either dead or in hiding, and the badguys are slowly destroying the world. One villain realizes this can't be allowed to continue. It's his story. I think it'll be a lot of fun to write. Thinking about plot and whatnot now. Anyway...here's a poem I read this month. I write poetry now, apparently.

I am told I speak well

I follow the rules my teachers

And their teachers and their teachers taught

I pronounce my ings and errs

I enunciate each syllable

I speak well

But I think my grandfather

His voice pleasant and slow like change

As he savored each word

Ignoring diction and the rules

Told stories filling as Sunday dinners

His speech comforting as old jeans

He spoke well

As knowledge and history trickled

From his tongue like revelation

He ain’t nevah read my books

Or my teachers

And I don’t speak like him

So did he speak well

When he sat me on his knee

And told me of the time he spent

In ‘nam his eyes far off

Unseeing and seeing too much

Did he speak well

When he shook the ghosts away

And I could feel them

Those ghosts grasping clawing

Trying to take root like weeds

When he asked if I want breakfast

Pancakes and sirp

Not syrup with two syllables

the way I say it

Did he speak well

When the words rolled together

Like pools of honey

And you could feel the rhythm

And his emotion

even when he ain’t got no diction

He spoke well

He spoke good as he was able

And because of him I stand before you judged

Before I open my mouth

And surprised when I do

It saddens me because

My grandfather is not in my speech

And sometimes I wish he was

Because he spoke real good

And the stories he told me

As memorable as homer or Shakespeare

And because of him

I know

 Poems seem longer than they are.

Faye Valkyr

The Valkyrie story that has weighed so heavily on my soul is about finished. Right now, it sucks. I'm not sure how much mythology to put in, or whether or not it's relevant to the character.

Here is an excerpt WARNING, EXTREMELY ROUGH DRAFT:

Faye strolled around the park listening to the sounds of death; the lack of children's laughter, the creak of a merry-go-round. She could hear the scattering and scratching of leaves scraping against the sidewalk, a brittle sound that always reminded her of a skeleton's laughter. She circled a swing set and sat, the seat was cold and the chains creaked with each movement. Darkness consumed the sky taking with it the sun and blanketing the world in a warm glow. Her legs stretched out before her as she climbed higher, reaching for the stars, hair fell behind her like a flag in the wind. It was easy to sense the souls of those torn unexpectedly from life if you knew what to look for. If you knew what to listen for you heard their wails like tom-cats mewling, or heard their voices mingle with the wind. Faye heard and was comforted. Coming to the park was like coming home.

"Bit old to be on a swing set, aren't you?"

Faye started and almost fell. She settled herself and looked behind her, the direction of the voice. She was not surprised to see Officer Jacobs there. She nodded to him and continued her smooth arc, forward and back. The heavens came closer and retreated. Only conscious thought kept her from putting her hand out and reaching. She smiled at her foolishness, and slowed her momentum.

"How are you, Officer Jacobs?"
He smiled and sat on the swing to Faye's left. He was not in uniform. He wore simple jeans and a t-shirt that read "Change" below a picture of Obama. He scooped up pebbles in his hand and began throwing them into the distance. After each toss he would look at Faye and smile, his white and even teeth like bones against a background of charcoal.

"Can't complain," he said. "You?"

Faye considered before answering. "Unhappy," she said. "Confused."

Officer Jacobs nodded like she'd said nothing out of the ordinary and threw another pebble.

"Why're you here, Faye?"

"Do you hear them?" she asked, "They call."

He dropped the pebbles and wiped a hand across his shirt, smearing dust across his chest. He looked out in the distance, towards the merry-go-round and past the jungle gym, he looked at the trees swaying with the wind and then back at Faye. A look crossed his face. Confusion, Faye thought, and worry.

I like Faye a lot. I've got to do some more research on Norse stuff (I have been reading a lot. I read the Nibelunglied, amongst some other Norse stuffs. I haven't come up with an ending yet because, well, it will change after I know my character a bit better. I decided to end on an unsatisfactory note while I do some more character sketching. Faye's voice still isn't clear to me.