Smaller.

Oct. 22nd, 2007 12:27 pm
icebluenothing: (Default)
Halloween is banging down the door, and I've only seen one or two people post the link graphic for my reading, so my theories are a.) It was just too big to be spamming your friends pages with with, b.) I posted it too long before Halloween and now you all need this ever-so-lovingly gentle reminder, c.) Nobody wants to come to Greenwood, or d.) No one loves me any more. Assuming it's a., I therefore have thoughtfully provided you with this new, smaller, practically dainty link graphic to use instead. You're welcome.



The code for this link graphic:
<a href="http://www.bloodletters.com/"><img src="http://www.bloodletters.com/pub/halloween2007small.gif" width="300" height="217" border="0"></a>

I do hope you're going to come -- I've got not one, not two, but three brand new stories for you all this year, and I think they're gonna knock your socks off. So bring some friends, and bring extra socks.

Pseudopod.

Nov. 1st, 2006 08:27 am
icebluenothing: (Default)
Yesterday I said I had An Announcment -- one I made at my reading last night to much applause.

Pseudopod is the "world’s first horror podcast magazine," posting a new short story every two weeks in audio MP3 format. I've had several friends suggest I submit a story to them, and so I finally did. They accept "reprints", as it were, so I sent them the title story from Counting From Ten.

They liked it, they bought it, and it went up on their site just before Halloween.

They did a pretty good job, I think. The reader really captured the voice of Tommy -- I'm pretty damn happy with it, and it's getting some really good comments.

You should download it. Give it a listen.

Download (36m:58s)
icebluenothing: (Default)
Time at last for October kisses
Light fingertips down my back like unseen drops of morning fog
And brightsharp breezes that draw her near

Time for hot chocolate and cider spices
Mornings late in bed with blankets pulled up tight and close as skin
and endless ghost-story-late nights
Watch kept by candles guttering like jack-o-lantern eyes

Hand-in-hand on walked-down streets
like children out for trick-or-treat
Sun slants down low and lazy through burning turning leaves
Tumble down to spread out at our feet like hair spilled over pillows

The world turning carousel-fast under our feet
and I can feel the shape of a year in its arc
Hidden from cold in shelter and dark with
Every touch of her candy-apple lips

Fortunate.

Oct. 12th, 2003 08:32 pm
icebluenothing: (Default)
"You will always get what you want though your charm personality."

This I know. Because the fortune-cookie fortune taped to my monitor tells me so.

---

Today is a letter-perfect October day, bright and sharp as a jack-o'-lantern knife. The wind is getting into everything like a new kitten, pulling and tearing at candleflame leaves and cardboard boxes and yesterday's headlines, until nothing is where it belonged but nothing is out of place.

We'd talked about meeting last night, but didn't; we'd both been dead tired, and the roads were slick and lethal with rain. Today, then, instead, for lunch, before I have to go to work.

Afterward, a little coffeeshop I'd been wanting to take her to, one that's half a curio store, antique toys and old magazines and real records.

Iced tea for her and a mocha for me, and without preamble, she empties her small purse on the table and starts organizing it. Little notes to herself in her spidery writing, that she pauses and puzzles over. Handfuls of movie tickets -- it seems to me, glancing over them, that half of them or more were for movies we'd seen together. She starts putting things back in her purse. One little slip of paper catches my eye -- a Chinese fortune of her own:

You will be successful in love.

I reach out, touch one finger to the words, and slide the paper across the table to her. She picks it up, reads it -- a small and private smile plays at her lips, her eyes focus on nothing in particular.

She doesn't say anything. She puts the paper back in her purse.

I don't say anything. I think of all the things I could say, in that one long moment, and just smile a private smile of my own.

---

It's a letter-perfect October day, bright and sharp as a jack-o'-lantern knife, and the wind is getting into everything like a new kitten, pulling and tearing at candleflame leaves and cardboard boxes and yesterday's headlines, until nothing is where it belonged. But not one single thing is out of place.

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