Weekly Roundup #7: The Skiffy and Fanty Show / Duke and Zink Do America
I’m back with some updates! This week is entirely about podcast-ery stuff, which you should all listen to if you are so inclined. Interviews, politics, and lots of SF/F! Good times… Enough with my introductions… First: Over at SandF, Jen and I have released the actual interview with Stina Leicht, author of And Blue Skies From Pain. We discuss everything from the themes of the novel, issues of nationalism, Irish identity, and much more. If you haven’t read the book, you really should; it’s bloody brilliant. You can listen/download the episode here (or on iTunes). And second: DZDA has officially released five episodes. This doesn’t sound like much of a milestone to most podcasters, but Jen and I are pretty happy about it. Plus, we’re still having fun! Episode Five’s Agenda: The KKK learns how to use the interwebz, pro-lifers don’t actually like life, the supreme court OKs strippin’ granny, China’s chomping at the bit, plus other random stuff we feel like talking about. Plus other random stuff we feel like talking about! You can listen or download the episode here (or on iTunes). We’ve also posted a question for everyone to answer: “Where do you get your news from?” You’ll find our news sources in that post, but we also really want to hear from listeners. Maybe we’ll find something new to listen to! And that’s that… —————————————————— What have you been up to lately? Let me know in the comments.
#NaPoWriMo Entry #4: “A Quiet Gap Builds”
Today’s entry is one of those personal entries — at least, it’s related in some way to personal nonsense. Read at your own risk. (Note: I will probably have some political nonsense tomorrow. Just a warning…) Here goes: A quiet gap builds between the royal pair, a prince and a prince with imaginary titles in an imaginary place. A chasm, a canyon rising from a deaf sea swirling expired blue. The waves churn circles, the count of the clouds like shadow men traipsing by with hands kneading air. The royal pair sense the earth-born rift in the murmur of a heartbeat, but the prince known it only by the flashbang terror tightening titan fingers over his heart. How might he let her see the emptiness between their dreams if she marks her knowledge with a cat-trapped tongue? The prince grips the air and fights the canyon with bulldozers of hope: No more canyons. No more searching through rubble. An end to something no romantic poet could ever expose en total. These he hopes for, reaches out his whithered garden hands to the faint sunbeam of his other side, pleads with eyes swimming with twisty birds in a free sky chirping contentment. But she cannot see, for the haze draws over her vision, clouding her beloved so that what she sees is only a shadow of the man she loves(ed). He waits for the every-wizard potion to burn through the cavern like carrion birds in a graveyard, to fill it with liquid sun, make a new world from the ashes. And he hopes only for the strength to hold on long enough to find the world he used to know.