Short N Sweet

by  Christian A. Brown  |  October 18, 2015  |     No Comments

An interesting week. Manuscript #4 is at the half-way point now. Also, I received Feast of Chaos back from it’s first editor, and I’ll be switching gears from the final manuscript to work on that for a while. Feast of Chaos is an exciting story, and Barbara (my primary editor) seemed really impressed with the plotting, certain character threads and especially the ending. First, it’s such a treat when Barbara gives praise, since she doesn’t do so lightly. (That said, there’s plenty of criticism and corrective editing in the manuscript, too.) On a secondary note, it’s always fun to have a villain with whom the reader can sympathize. You haven’t met this woman yet, our nameless villain, though you will quite soon into the pages of Feast of Chaos. She’s Morigan’s counterpart: a person of conviction, an orchestrator of Fates, who works for what’s perceived to be the evil side. Although, as most of us surely know, reality comes in shades of grey. Morigan, who can be a bit of a Pollyanna at times, learns that lesson, and earns herself a shade of grey in Feast of Chaos. That’s all that I’ll say on the matter.

While beginning my preliminary assessment of the draft, I came across this piece of poetry that I’d like to share with all of you. Even though the material is pure fiction, something about the prose has me contemplating the profound issue of my small being in this great universe. Seems appropriate material for Sunday reflections. In the poem, you’ll get your first glimpse at Pandemonia, too—the land in which our heroes next find themselves.

—The Cradle—

What is this fire that bleeds and roars?

A babe of chaos.

Veins, cracked on dusty plain;

O’er shield of ruptured ice

Hideous garden bewitched in glittering grace

A man does not know what to tell his wonder,

Of this sea of stars on earth

Hollows—canyons, deep and dark as space—that echo with time,

And whispers

Foretell the fleetness of your life

Here, there be the calling of ancient Kings

The Will of Starry Things

Of beasts both real and beyond

Know thy place, as ant and beggar

In the Kingdom of true rule

False demagogues and would-be lords

Know thy place

The wise listen in silence

Raptured to the melodies of our damnation.

Oh, ancient voice

Oh, starry voice


I hear, I fall, I weep.

—Kericot, poet of Geadhain

While I’m supposed to be taking the day off for reflection and whatnot, I’m fidgeting with anticipation at the thought of digging into the manuscript once more. I’ve kept things short and sweet so that I can get back to my “desk”, which is actually a large screen TV, remote keyboard and ergonomic chair—no RSI for me. Next week, myself and my fellow Canadians will hopefully have ousted our country’s resident (and elected) dictator, Mr. Harper, so I’ll have lots to talk about.

All my love,


P.S. Oh, and the final cover for Feast of Chaos (as seen in the new trailer):

Feast of Chaos


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