Not much, but it's something. I'm trying to learn how to work ACID 6 so I've created a couple of short tracks out of loops from Looperman. They're free to download if anyone wants them. I'd like some feed back on them too.

I have a little desk fan,
As pretty as you please.
It sits beside me on the desk,
and blows a happy breeze.

I love my little desk fan,
It cools me off so well.
It makes the summer not so hot
As I can truely tell.

I'm gonna miss my desk fan,
It died today, you see.
A grinding, rending, crunching noise.
Did warn of what would be.

Smoke streamed out from my desk fan,
The motor... it'd give out.
I scream'd and hollar'ed, ranted, raved,
Then sat and pulled a pout.

My desk, it started sweating,
My windows fogged all up.
My computer had a melt down,
My dog, she had a pup.

The house, it caught on fire.
It was a total loss.
Five neighbors and the mailman
All snickered at my loss.

I guess I'll get a new fan,
A bigger one. You'll see!
But first I need a new house
'Cause I'm living in the tree!

The sun shone upon a small patch of tilled earth, baking it to a crisp.

Marigolds blossoming around the edges wilted and drooped. An old woman stood

with her left hand on her hip and squinted at the garden through one eye.

"That garden ain't gonna grow."

She turned a two-inch square, cardboard box around and peered at the label on

the front.

"Instant water..." She tossed a dirty look over her shoulder at a bungalow and

wrinkled her nose. "Stupid late night T.V. shows...sellin' mah husband all

sorts 'a rubbish!"

She gave her attention back to the box and tried to make out the directions on

the back.

"Jest add water..." She raised an eyebrow at the box and snorted. "Yeah,

instant water all right. 'Fool an' his money be parted!"

She ripped the shrink wrap from the box, tore off the top and peered inside. A

fine white, glistening powder filled the box almost all the way to the top.

"Looks like sugar..." She turned the box upside down and poured its contents

into the grass next to the garden and tossed the container away.

"Idiot husband. Gotta fall fer every scam that comes along!"

She hobbled toward the house, leaving a pile of glittering white crystals

behind.

The sun continued shine, oblivious of her disgruntled unhappiness. Its rays

drew moisture from the grass. Water vapor, rising into the air, interacted

with the crystals and they began to vibrate. A rumbling began, rising in a

rapid crescendo and a monstrous tsunami erupted into existence, washing away

everything in a fifty mile radius.

A small cardboard box washed up onto the edge of the devastation and lay

drying in the sun, its waterlogged type visible for any survivors to read.

'Instant water,' the label read. 'Just add water. Caution. Contains enough for

one medium lake. Handle with care.'

I found it sitting on my desk, staring at me with eyes as black as the night between stars. Silent. Motionless. Evil. Large pink ears protruded from its head like malicious radars, siphoning every sound into its gargantuan brain. Soft fur, grey with white speckles, coated its body. Fur that begged to be touched. Stroked. Cuddled.

I sat in my chair staring back while I struggled with my socks. I swear it laughed at me, though I heard no sounds.

Evil. Pure evil. And it had landed on my desk.

I dragged my pants onto my shuddering body, picked the monstrosity up by a tuft of its fur and flung it out the open window onto the newly mown lawn.

A soft step caused me to stiffen and turn. Behind me, an innocent child took her thumb from her mouth and said: “Dad? Where’s my Furby?”

The book is called Spellbound, and if anyone would like to read it before it goes into print, just send me a private message here.

Here's the review:

"Although not my usual type of book I really enjoyed it apart from
wanting to see Gino splatter Darnell over the walls, floor, ceiling and
everywhere else and it wasn't there.

It kept my interest from chapter to chapter right through to the end and I would definitely read it again. The only other comment I have is that the
term Wizard is slightly confusing as it usually pertains to a person being
male.

After reading Spellbound I am now looking forward to reading all of the
Sojourn Chronicles. Many thanks for a great story"

Splatters of color,
In patterns of old.
Dancing with joy,
The spring doth unfold.

Growling with thunder,
The clouds in the sky.
Drop showers of rain,
On the ground they pass by.

Deep green and sparkling,
The grass now is thick.
The branch with new leaves
Is no longer a stick.

The coating of winter
Has melted away.
The world has awakened,
To a new, wondrous day.
© 2007 Crystalwizard

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/

It's a neat concept. Talk radio kind of in blog format. A lot like the stations you can set up here for music, but you can broadcast out to the net too.

thought I'd pass it on in case anyone was interested.

Hi all,

I just got notice of a really cool thing. My short story, The Gazebo, was included in the 2007 First Quarter Anthology from Bewildering Stories. Here's a link to the anthology main page

http://www.bewilderingstories.com/anthologies/227-238_antho1.html

You'll find my story listed on page 2 or 3. If you read through it, I'd like to know what you thought.

This is a new Sci-Fi anthology of short stories which is scheduled for release fairly soon. The book cover is mine, and I just finished it, which is why I haven't done much around here lately. I think I can breath again though

You can see the large version here:
http://artwanted.com/imageview.cfm?id=484262

and the home page of the publisher is here:
http://www.bewilderingpress.com/

If you get a chance to wander by my artwanted gallery, leave a comment on the image

Just down the way,
I have a friend,
A man of little means.

A house he has,
A garden too,
With carrots, beets and beans.

Just down the way,
I know a man,
Who hasn't very much

He scrimps and saves,
And just gets by,
He says he has no luck.

Just down the way,
On eve the last,
A fire it did blaze.

A small house burned,
A tiny place,
There wasn't much to save.

A worthless house,
Its roof did leak,
The porch was falling down.

The paint was peeling,
Shutters gone,
The eyesore of the town.

Just down the way,
I had a friend,
He's not there any more.

He died last night,
The smoke was thick,
They found him on the floor.

I miss my friend,
His sunny smile,
His cheerful, happy wave.

I wonder what,
It was that he,
Was trying hard to save.

My friend is gone,
Is yours alive?
When did you see him last?

Time travels on,
This can't be stopped,
Each day becomes the past.

Don't wait too long,
Don't put it off,
It might become too late.

Then you will wish,
To see your friend,
Just standing at your gate.

Dancing, flickering shadows,
Streaking through the leaves.

Glancing off the meadow,
Shimmers on the breeze.

Glittering on rain drops,
Dancing in the air.

Little bits of sunshine,
Tiny drops of light,

The world is full of joy,
The day is pure and bright.

Willows on the banks.
Bright river flowing gently.
Peaceful afternoon.

Grey and white,
Clean and bright,
Snowy shapes abound.

Frosty blues,
Crystal hues,
Frozen on the ground.

Cobalt skies,
Laughing eyes,
Cherry cheeks of red.

Brown and still,
On the hill,
Trees appear as dead.

Winter's here,
Ends the year,
Soon will come the spring.

I've managed to get a few cool requests for book covers. 2 for Bewildering Press novels and one for an anthology (can't release the name of that one yet, but I will once the publisher makes the public announcement).

One of the covers I'm finished with. It's a cute fantasy story called Katts and Dawgs. You can see the cover in my artwanted gallery at this link:

http://artwanted.com/imageview.cfm?id=461569

I'm just starting on the second one, but once it's finished it'll be added to my gallery as well, as well the cover for the anthology. I'll post something here once they're available to see.

The redo on Book 1's cover looks good. I'm hoping to get the re-edit for it finished in the next couple months. Hopefully by this summer it'll be out. Nothing really wrong with it but someone played around with the tint and put way too much red into my art after I approved it ;(. Not happy but it looks good now.

6 books in this series... I'm starting to wonder if I'll survive it! about 1/2 done with the last re-write on book 4. Should be ready to go into the publisher after this re-write is finished. Then I have to sit down, plot out the rest of book 6 and get it finished!

Anyone from soundclick that buys one my books needs to get a hold of me so I can arrange a way to sign them for you.

"It's time."

Those words sent icy chills down my spine and caused my heart to skip a beat. Not that it matters in the least.

I looked up, through a thick veil of darkness which was rapidly descending and shook my head.

"Come on!"

Why me? I'd done nothing. Why was I here? Why was this happening? I wanted to scream, to plead, to beg. Not that it would do any good.

"Let's go!"

Terrifying. Those words, so simple and easily said. Just two little words yet they brought with them horrors beyond telling. I slid backwards until the hard wall stopped me and cringed, then looked up fearfuly and watched as my executioner approached.

"Let's go," the words repeated. Rough hands grasped me firmly and dragged me against my will over the hard, cold floor. I fought. I struggled. I tried...and failed.

"Stupid dog," the man growled, watching me as the cage door slammed shut. "The groomers ain't gonna kill you!"

They stand at the door.

Two sets of golden eyes, staring into the darkness.

Ears twitching,
Tail tips curled loosely.
Whiskers at attention.

They stand, peering out at the night, scenting.

Out the door!

Gone, vanished into the shadows!

Dead mice on my doorstep in the morning.
A present.

(I'm not an old man, but this poem decided I had to write it anyway)

Through streams of time the vision flies.
Past years and days forgotten.
You look at me with weathered eyes,
A smile which doesn't soften.

I hold your portrait in my hands,
I study it at leisure.
I note the tightness of your hair,
I'm sure you were a treasure.

My ancestor some have said you were,
A distant mothers son.
A hero in some ancient war
Which no side truly won.

I wonder what you hoped or dreamt
I want to know your past.
I wish that life had been more kind
Or in bronze you had been cast.

But such is not the case it seems.
I only know your name.
The portrait yellowed now with age,
Is all your call to fame.

Yet I look at you with those same eyes,
I have your roman nose.
I sport the same dark locks as you,
My brow had got your furrows.

I place your portrait on the wall,
And straighten it just so.
It'll hang here now in this long hall,
But I shall surely go.

My days themselves are running out,
My life is growing dim.
Time flies to fast for fear or doubt,
I'm sure this is the end.

Some future day in years to come,
Another set of eyes.
Will look at you and think such thoughts,
And wonder at the lies.

The promises life holds out to all,
That broken are in death.
I leave you now to guard this place,
And take my final breath.

There was a man who set out to carve a statue. He spent days selecting just the right block of wood. He considered the color, the grain, the hardness and texture. At last, the perfect block of wood was found and he took it home.

He set the block of wood up on a table in his studio, and spent days selecting just the right tools with which to carve. He pondered the pencils with which to draw on the wood the first rough outlines of the statue's shape. He mused over the chisels, saw blades, and other implements. At last, he made his selections with utmost care and began to carve.

The man spent a month carefully, precisely, drawing the rough outline of the statue which he beheld in his mind on all four sides of the block of wood. Each line was exact, not too wide, not to narrow, not too dark and painstakingly sketched the shape onto the wood until sweat poured from his brow.

At last the day arrived when he struck the first blow of chisel to wood. He removed each chip precisely, agonizing over each action, sometimes taking an hour for a single cut. At last, after several more months, the statue was roughed in.

Stepping back he looked at it critically.
"Hmmm," he said, peering at a spot on the upper section of the statue. "That's slightly crooked. I need to fix that."

Taking his tools in hand again, the man began to smooth the statue, refine it's lines, adjust the fine details.

As he worked, visitors came to his studio. They marveled at the statue, praised his skills, spent hours drinking in the beauty.

Still, the man knew that the statue wasn't perfect. It mattered not to him that everyone praised it, or expressed how beautiful they felt it appeared. He could see the rough spots where the outlines didn't quite match his vision, and so smiled at their praise and continued to work.

Many more months went by, and one day a friend came to visit him.

"My friend," the visitor requested. "May I have a look at your marvelous statue? The one you were carving when I was here last year?"

"Certainly," the man agreed. He reached into a drawer, extracted a tooth-pick and handed it to his friend.

"This is certainly a fine jest," the visitor laughed. "Now may I please see the statue?"

"That is all that is left," the sculpture explained, a tear trickling from his eye.

"What on earth happened?" The visitor wanted to know. "Why it was taller than you are yourself when I saw it last!"

"I know," the man nodded his head.

"And it was beautiful," the visitor went on. "More so than any other statue in a museum!"

"Yes," the man agreed. "It was."

"Then what happened?" The visitor insisted. "Did someone break in? Destroy your work?"

"No," the man explained, sighing heavily. "I did that myself."

The visitor looked at him in shocked silence so the man went on.

"You see, all I could see were the rough spots, places it wasn't correct, the mistakes. I sanded and I carved, but the more I worked, the more it looked wrong to me. In my pursuit of perfection, the statue wore away until all that is left is that tooth-pick you hold. I'm sorry."

"How terrible," the friend comforted him. "Well then, perhaps I could view some of your other works? Surely you have many of those?"

"I'd be glad to show you," the man agreed. "I fear though, that I have no other statues, but..." He opened the drawer again and took out a small box. "I do have a lovely collection of tooth-picks."

Your words touch my heart and ignite inspiration.
Your thoughts blossom forth in my mind.
Your vision gives birth within me.
You create my creativity.

My art grows from your planting.
A picture takes form in the air.
Paint, graphite, ink and chalk,
Weave their magic between us.

Our sharing brings forth greatness.
Our souls touch and entwine.
Our vision reaches out to others.
Our hearts make other hearts race.

Your words, my pen, his dreaming.
The world spins together as one.
We all are a woven tapestry.
Your pain in my heart gives her birth.

Life is a constant reminder.
Not one of us exists in a void.
Dream for me and give inspiration.
Let me paint your words on a stone.