Just read it, left a comment. Can you see me salaaming in your general direction? :-) I am most certainly not worthy. Being a child of the 70s, I will offer the following in that style as a comment here:
Dude, wtf?!? That was so amazeballs! Holy shit!
Ahem. “Wait for Night” is so tightly constructed that not even a cockroach could find a crack in it. Let’s not prevaricate: this story is the literary version of a laser beam, coherent light at its most perfect. It is Story as origami: one piece of paper (basic plot) with many folds (setting, character, etc.) which becomes a three-dimensional object or figure which enriches. It almost makes me cry.
If all that sounds too flowery for you, sue me. I started out as a poet and am seriously considering going back to it, since I don’t seem to have the knack for prose. Then again, poetry may turn out to be a stop-gap measure for returning to fiction, who knows. But enuff about me.
Damfine work there, young man (I can say that, I’m old enough to be your mother), pat yerself on the back for that one. I’ve started The Fast Red Road and find it … hallucinatory. Which kinda makes my teeth itch. Because I’ve seen some weird shit in my life — buuuut that’s a tale for another time.
Stay well, and don’t get too crazy on the trails, hey?
Just read it, left a comment. Can you see me salaaming in your general direction? :-) I am most certainly not worthy. Being a child of the 70s, I will offer the following in that style as a comment here:
Dude, wtf?!? That was so amazeballs! Holy shit!
Ahem. “Wait for Night” is so tightly constructed that not even a cockroach could find a crack in it. Let’s not prevaricate: this story is the literary version of a laser beam, coherent light at its most perfect. It is Story as origami: one piece of paper (basic plot) with many folds (setting, character, etc.) which becomes a three-dimensional object or figure which enriches. It almost makes me cry.
If all that sounds too flowery for you, sue me. I started out as a poet and am seriously considering going back to it, since I don’t seem to have the knack for prose. Then again, poetry may turn out to be a stop-gap measure for returning to fiction, who knows. But enuff about me.
Damfine work there, young man (I can say that, I’m old enough to be your mother), pat yerself on the back for that one. I’ve started The Fast Red Road and find it … hallucinatory. Which kinda makes my teeth itch. Because I’ve seen some weird shit in my life — buuuut that’s a tale for another time.
Stay well, and don’t get too crazy on the trails, hey?
Jan Le Pest