Backstage at the Bijou

You don’t need to sell your soul to be a great musician. No, son. You best not.

See, that’s what everybody gets wrong about those deals with the devil. He ain’t giving you nothing. He’s taking. Them boys who made them deals weren’t playing; they’s being played! You can tell ’cause of their eyes. Tired eyes. Eyes hollowed out and empty. I know. I put enough of ’em down in my day. Put ’em down hard with music and old, strong magic. They thanked me.

Shit, son. Sell my soul? Never. How’s anyone supposed to make music without their soul?

Here’s my entry in Phantom Sway’s wondrous and star-studded weekly Friday Fiction challenge. What’s that? Of course it’s studded with stars! Well, at least one star — me! I may be but a minor star, somewhere in the larger numbers of the magnitude scale, but I am growing brighter. You’ll need sunglasses soon. After that, you will only be able to look at me through welder’s goggles or thickly-smoked glass. Such will be my luminescence!


In related news, I’m a couple stories behind this month. Expect that result to change this weekend, at least partially!

In related-related news, have you seen my newsletter lately? It’s quite good and contains stories.