- Current Music:Isador Goodman piano recital
Well, I agree with him. From now on, no more readings. No more than a page anyway. Just banter, which I am okay at. You can hear me banter next week at two events:
Nick Mamatas, Jim Nisbet, Sin Soracco, and Ken Wishnia: PM Press Crime Writers' Short-Fire Reading and Signing, Wednesday, March 19th at 7:00 pm at Borderlands Books.
Thursday, March 20th at 7pm: Radical fiction, mystery, and crime! With Ken Wishnia, Norman Nawrocki, Sin Soracco, Nick Mamatas, Owen Hill, and Summer Brenner. Thursday, March 20, 2014 - 19:00 at Bay Area Public School.
Jon's latest book has hit the shelves now. It's called Blood and Iron and is the first book in an epic fantasy series from Pyr. It's action-packed and according to some, "a sword-and-sorcery Spartacus set in a richly imagined world." Here's the cover art and cover copy. You can find out more details at the Pyr website, and find out more about Jon Sprunk at his own website (including the assassin books).
Cover Copy: It starts with a shipwreck following a magical storm at sea. Horace, a soldier from the west, had joined the Great Crusade against the heathens of Akeshia after the deaths of his wife and son from plague. When he washes ashore, he finds himself at the mercy of the very people he was sent to kill, who speak a language and have a culture and customs he doesn’t even begin to understand. Not long after, Horace is pressed into service as a house slave. But this doesn’t last. The Akeshians discover that Horace was a latent sorcerer, and he is catapulted from the chains of a slave to the halls of power in the queen’s court. Together with Jirom, an ex-mercenary and gladiator, and Alyra, a spy in the court, he will seek a path to free himself and the empire’s caste of slaves from a system where every man and woman must pay the price of blood or iron. Before the end, Horace will have paid dearly in both.
Like snake that sloughs off skin against a stone
we feel it loosen, tear a little. Scratch.
There is a thought that we must sometimes catch
and hold a little pressed against the bone
that cages head or heart. It is not true
we won't get free. The tatters that we wear
will fray away. Disposable as hair
we wind round finger, drop into the loo
and flush away. The itching drives you mad
the tatters pull away like scab from knee
when you were five – and this was true for me
will be for you. Night terrors you have had
bound trapped disgusting never free – scales, dust.
Raw pink beneath. Believe this, love – you must.
Love's fever has burned through: I convalesce.
Drink the thin broth of heart-ease, that was ache,
Boiled from my bones and blood. Somehow we make
something from feelings as they evanesce
as steam. We scrape the scum off with a spoon.
discard, add salt to wounds. The sting's the cure,
the pain's the healing. Full of doubt be sure
that in love turns to love, perhaps quite soon.
You peck my pale no longer burning face,
visit with grapes. Suggest I breathe fresh air.
Take me from sickroom. Drive me fast to where
Your small light shows my way to some high place
I see picked out in gold and near-black grays
some promised city glimmers in the haze.
emerging from the freighted dark no thought
but that the sky be clear and hands be filled
with all the needful that your warm hearts willed
when in good daylight the first words were caught
by eager listeners who had been taught
that not all prizes went to those best drilled
in the arcana of the freshly-killed
rather to ones who would account for naught
there is a victory that no one regrets
up in the hills when all the gifts are due
then hunters call and do not comprehend
the plainer meanings and the open sets
though when we have been silenced and review
our final forces we find there’s no end
- Current Mood: contemplative