I finished work on the chapbook last night, and as soon as I get an illustration from Ben (who did all the art for Dancing Barefoot), it’s going to a local print shop. I doubt I’ll have it on Friday, but I will have it at the convention on Saturday and Sunday. Oh, and I gave it a title. It’s called "More Than This."
I spent the first half of today working on Games of our Lives, then had an epiphany (to be discussed on today’s RFB) that lead me to write a fictional short story called Language Barrier.
It’s with my editor, but I have a little excerpt which I can share now:
I became aware of voices behind me. Two women. They spoke with heavy Russian accents.
"Martina," one of them said, "you don’t understand. He пребывания вне поздно, никогда не выбирают вверх после себя, and doesn’t even know me!"
"Sophia, вы возбужены –" She was older than the first.
"I am not excited, and don’t talk to me like I am a child. Будете вы моим другом или не?"
"Of course I’m your friend. And of course I want you to be happy –"
"So why won’t you support me?"
An Escalade pulled up in front of the restaurant, bass thumping, temporarily turning the window into a mirror. I caught a glimpse of their reflection: Martina, the older one, faced away from me. Her hair was huge and processed. She wore a light colored top. Sophia, younger, had black hair and pale skin. The Escalade drove away and I squinted my eyes against the midday sun. I looked down at the tan line on my left hand. Two months and it still hadn’t gone away. Two months and I still felt bitter, when I didn’t feel numb. Two months and I was alone in a restaurant, fantasizing about fucking a girl I hadn’t even seen, based on her sexy Russian accent.
More to come . . .