Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel" Reader's Choice of Poems: "Sentinel" "Glice" "In search of Iris" "La Bella Vita" "Plain cover jacket" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" : "Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Winter: 18 Mas'il (December 29)" "In a garden of roses, baby" "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "ENFP, what are you?" FACES PLACES Kåre Enga ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
...as in a title for a series of stories to write this November? Yo: My mind always wanders down paths that others don't dare (mostly because they aren't THAT stupid...). My stories that comprise "Blood of the Garlic" are about vampires... the real deal not those sparkly wannabes or fangs-dripping-blood stereotype. Mine merely have a blood condition that makes them sensitive to heat, allergic to silver and with thin blood wary of blood-thinners... like garlic. Just normal folks who are different. So, I make my characters real by thinking of them as real. If this is conveyed to my readers? Then they are real. So how about zombies? How are they real too? Are they merely super sensitive types, easily wounded, with a defensive mechanism called "numbness". Do they spread this malaise by human contact? A sadness of unhealing wounds that fester... Sounds grim to me. My vampires are so vampy in comparison! Still, I personally have been deeply wounded with bruises that don't show even though they haven't healed. I may be onto a theme for NaNoWriMo... |