Did I win the Dragon Award for Best Fantasy Novel (Including Paranormal)?
Did I want it?
Did I expect to win it?
Do I hate the person that won it?
Do I have larger thoughts about the state of the genre, the context of this award with other awards, and awards in general?
Are any of them important?
Is this format becoming needlessly hostile?
Why haven’t I written anything in a while?
Do I only write weird rap lyrics now?
Am I ever going to put Spell/Sword and The Riddle Box on iBooks like that nice man on Twitter keeps asking?
Where are the audiobooks for The Riddle Box and AMOD?
Why have I stopped using my FitBit?
Look, now you’re just —
No one likes you anymore.
Hey, that’s not even a question. And you – I? – changed pronouns.
Bold-face you is ashamed of regular-face you.
Well, I suppose there’s plenty of reasons to feel a little —
No one finds you funny.
Okay, that’s just a lie. I am hilarious AND a delight.
You’ve been drinking too much.
I – that – could be argued.
Where is this going?
I – don’t know?
Okay, rap battle.
. . . .
Swing around the street lights
Remember why you stay up nights
howl down the wind and be sure
your ribs are zipped up tight
Calling down the hallway
Surely must be a better way
to hide in the hollow of too many years
black earth, red blood, and those things you say
scamming programming and spamming the blueshell tears
hound of the west comes to die in the south
words are the only thing you have left in your mouth
words are air and time is dust
End is the lover you can always trust
to forget and forgive and bury you clean
silk coffin so tight you can’t even dream
sing in your bones, stand in the fire
plateglass warrior lives to die at the spire.
Sing what you wish, this kid has moves
inevitable correctable which my clockwork symphonic proves
hoarding up my void points and waiting for turns
when the black trumpet is quiet and the midnight burns.
Hum down the wire and come meet me in the spire
I’ll help you remember which of us first confounded Fire.
Astounding, unlikely but already true
it’s only meter that matters when blank notes unspool.
uncork the bottle of already gone
lets see what’s left to cobble up this song
i serve at the mercy of the undying Gray
which means i’ll keep spitting until that witch has had her say
untouchable for now, my broken-heart vow
is the lyre the liar or did I forget a final bow?
burn up the curtain and break down the arch
no lovers can linger when Open and Shut is on the march.
. . . .
That was a pretty good rap battle.
Clever. I see what you did there.
I’m glad someone does. Let it never be said I won’t follow my muse to the bitter end.
But then there’s this weird part at the end that trails off. How do you land this?
Only one way: