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Crossing that bridge ... eventually.

8/28/2014

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There is a bridge that lingers in the distance; a bridge that everyone must cross, one day.  I am writing this blog post in honor of a very close friend who has recently, and unexpectedly, crossed that bridge.

...

I frequent a local eatery where one can socialize for hours and hours, and the coffee just keeps on coming.  My daughter and I spent the better part of an afternoon there one day with our friend, Julie.

Her manuscript lay open before us as we discussed its merits and offered suggestions  “I don’t know why,” Julie said, insistently, “but I have this really strong feeling that I need to get my book done.” 

This has been her occasional refrain for the past year or so.  The following February, we invited her to accompany us to the San Francisco writer’s Conference.  It was her the first time there.

The conference gave Julie a unique glimpse into “author world,” by surrounded her with publishers, agents, published and aspiring authors, opportunities to seek out advise, and so much more.


We knew how much new information would be coming her way, so we advised her to just enjoy the experience and absorb what she could.  Later discussions with her helped to sort much of it out.

Meanwhile, another talented friend of ours had begun to offer her ample skills as professional editor.  So, we introduced Julie to Kelly Cozy, author of Ashes, Reckoning, and The Day After Yesterday. 


Kelly was soon editing Julie’s work.  Then, one afternoon, I received the following text from Julie: "She, (Kelly), makes me sound smart!"  This "thank you." was so true to Julie's "cheeky" sense of humor.

On August fifth, Tales of a Traveling Soul, by Julie Brand, was finally available on Kindle.  Julie announced that she had already sold one copy, and that she was waiting for the physical “proof” of her book.


We were ecstatic, and quickly sent our well deserved congratulations to her.  This was a huge accomplishment for Julie, and I told her that I would make my way to the Kindle store to obtain a copy, as well.     

A few days later, just when she would have received her “proof” in hand, Julie passed away of an unforeseen heart malady. ...  

It is with deep sadness that I write this, but it must be said: "Well done,  Julie!  Well done, indeed"  To paraphrase the comment of a mutual friend, “Julie isn't gone, she's just traveling again.”
...

To all would be authors out there, be assured that myriad resources are available to you which can help you in achieving your hopes of publishing your own work one day.  ...  Go for it!



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Greetings from Myopia ...

8/22/2014

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"What do you miss most about South Carolina?" I asked a friend long ago.  "I miss the rain."  She said.  "It rains here," I tried.  "Not in the Summer," she countered.  "It rains in the Summer???" I asked.

Having only ever lived in a semi-arid region, where typically there is little to no rain between May and November, it hadn't occurred to me that there might be rain storms, anywhere, during Summer months.

Yes, I've seen wet-weather reports on the news, but they all pertain to somewhere elsewhere.  In my vicinity we live with climate, not weather.  Here,now, it is far too early to even consider a day of rain. 

Myopia is a singularly elusive residence, to it's residents, that is.  It is where one's personal experiences create an entire global construct out of which one sees everything, and I am one such world builder.   

If you have ever looked at an upside down world map, depicting all things south as north, you will know instantly what I mean by this word: Myopia.  A very human condition, it speaks of who we are.  

The first time I set foot in England, I became acutely aware of how "American" I am.  I quickly reassessed the situation and tuned in to the nuances of England.  That was a benchmark lesson for me. 

However, when I am writing, it is vital that I envelop myself in my muse's world view.  If I don't tune in, I am lost.  And once a piece is finished, then what?  Do I simply shake it off and walk away?

Ah, but my  view of the world is ever so comfy, and logical, and true, and ...  or so it appears to me, even when I'm not writing.  So, since focusing farther afield isn't in my nature, I must work to make it so.

In the meantime, as I struggle to cast off this all too alluring and greedy cloak that is my world view ... meanwhile being summoned to work on yet another poem ... I bid you greetings from Myopia. 



Image: www.myopiacontrol.co.nz

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Long Past Due ... a poem ...

8/14/2014

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One tends to worry when it has been several weeks and still the words won't come.  No amount of cajoling, coercing, or  conniving will give them voice until they are good and ready to sing again.

Every attempt to write fell to the wayside.  Hmm...  It is an interesting word, "wayside," which means to "land immediately adjacent to a road" ... and not in that road where I actually had need of them.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came a refreshing congealing of ideas and  words.  Within an hour or so, a poem had coalesced out of my arabesque sea of thought ... and here it is ... long past due:
  
Long Past Due

I pull the curtains back
From windows clear and wide
In earnest, hopeful stance
To search the open sky
For merest wisp of cloud
In arcing ever blue
Until I burst aloud,
”The rain is long past due!”

Where is that swollen scent
When sea birds fill the air
And moisture not yet spent
Is lurking everywhere
Why do they stay away 
This season’s call defy
Oh how I miss those days
When all the sky would cry.





Image: www.linotype.com


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Community ...  solitude ... duality

8/7/2014

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Working in isolation has always been a gloomy experience for me.  Jobs that only involved "me" and "it" were depressing, and I longed for conversation, to be in community, with someone, anyone.

When I am writing, and only then, this is not so.   When words, and images, and ideas begin to envelope my every thought, there is no room for anyone else within the oh so jealously protective shroud.

And, it is sometimes tempting to think that only another writer would understand this enthralling isolation.  Only they know the how it feels to be ensconced in the machinery of the writer's mind.

There is, of course, the daydreamer, and the artist pondering a work in progress, but what of the mechanic, the zookeeper, or the teacher grading papers?  Doesn't everyone own some version of this ... ? 

Still, it seems a curious thing to be, on the one hand, in want of ongoing human companionship, and on the other, unavailable for coherent converse with anyone outside of my own writersphere.   

I had an opportunity, once, to watch as my astrological chart was calculated and drawn by a friend of a friend, who simply said, "I'd like to do this for you."  Not caring one way or the other, I acquiesced.

She worked, as my friend and I talked on.  At length, she looked at the finished chart, and then to me, and said, "You should always be around people," she adamantly cautioned me.  "You need them."


This blip from my past resurrects itself for contemplation whenever I consider the duality of my existence.  I don't understand astrology, nor am I drawn to such readings, thus it seemed an prescription.


And yet, whenever I am not engaged in writing, I habitually seek out the company of others, because I do so like "people."  Left alone, without even a scrap of and idea to write, I become quite miserable.

So, since my muse is apparently away on an extended vacation, and the ink well is looking a little low, I think I'll go walk about and see who I meet.  It sure beats hanging out, alone, on a fence ... waiting ...                                                                                 

          




 
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    About the author:

    I've written many poems over the years.  This blog is a preview of my books: Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry (April 2013), Echoes ll, More Neo-Victorian Poetry (May 2014), Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry, (August 2016), A Compilation of Echoes. (September 2016), and When None Command (April 13, 2019)

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