The skeleton fingers of the old bluesman plucked at the strings of the old steel guitar. The memory of the music hummed in the marrow of his bones. His body clicked and clacked like a marionette in rhythm with the tune. It was a catchy little dirge, of course. He needed no voice to express his pain. The pits of his skull where his eyes once were burned with the fires of Hell. Look deep enough into them, you'll see him down there, wailing and gnashing.
Yeah, he sold his soul. But it was goddamn worth it. Damnation may be eternal...but so are the blues, man.
--(From Spectrum 9, once again. Eric Bowman image.)
Finished my re-write for the “Beta-Eden” script for Creepy and sent it off. Now just have to wait and see if they like it. Fortunately, despite my wife's lack of comic book storytelling knowledge, her writing skills still make her an excellent editor. She helped me trim down my exposition considerably. All in all, the story ended up better than I thought it would.
Now to get the second bedroom in order to turn into my new writing office. No more writing in the living room and scattering comics and papers all about. That'll make the missus happy.