Blog Posts - Neo-Victorian Poetry

A new opportunity for reading poetry ...

9/22/2017

I am pleased to announce that I have been invited as the Featured Author to help kick off the very first Poetry, Wine and Cheese event in Klipsan Beach on the Long Beach Peninsula in Washington.

Following a brief introduction, I will be reading some of my poetry, sharing a deeper understanding of my work, as well as relating the background of my involvement in rhyming metered verse.

Everyone in attendance is also invited to share and discuss their own work, or the work of their favorite writer. This open forum is intended as an ongoing arena for sharing and discussing poetry.

So, if you happen to be on the Long Beach Peninsula on September 27th, you are cordially welcome to join us for a glass of wine and a bit of cheese while we peruse some poetic works together.

Image: David Rigs

Running on empty here ...

9/16/2017

I started working on this post several days ago with a promising first line, followed by a fairly able second line, soon followed by my entire wave of thought dissolving into foam on the beach of my intent.

No matter what I did to regroup and begin again my words just kept falling like tatters of exhausted cloth into a bottomless shadow on the floor. Apparently, my muse decided, apologetically, not to play.

So, here I am with nothing to post. So be it. No big. I merely thought I'd mention it, save the page, post it and move on. Perhaps my muse will be more willing to work with me next week.

Although I keep a list of blog ideas on hand, many worked out to some degree and others merely noted, none of then were enough to entice even the whisper of interest to that which I call "my muse."

So, tata for now, See you next time.

The work must be lean ...

9/7/2017

Elmore Leonard, American novelist, screenwriter, and author of Get Shorty, said "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." Oh, for a device, or a sixth sense, that could predict those particular parts!

Every now and then, I take a fresh look at my work. What I'm looking for are things like, "Does my poem still measure up to my ideal?" or, "Could I have used a more perfect word or phrase there?"

I am doggedly deliberate about the words I choose, in concert with my muse. But, when I'm about to review a poem, especially an older piece that I haven't read in a while, I begin to feel apprehensive.

As with Mr. Leonard, I work hard to leave no extraneous bits in my work. Every part must be accounted for. The work must be lean, though fluid, and rigidly constructed, yet appear effortless.

Even so, I'll often second guess my ability to engage the reader, to hold their interest captive throughout, and to make as certain as I am able that the reader will find no reason to "skip" anything therein.

And, I have discovered that developing this habit of occasionally reappraising my work, regardless of how daunting it may feel, has rewarded me with insights which I might have easily missed.

I get to see from a distance how the intended mechanism of my work is functioning. The farther removed I am in time from its initial composition, the more clearly I can see what is or is not there.

I may elect to tweak the machinery a bit if needs be, or fine tune a cog here or there, but I am ever so elated if I find that my original intent has stood time well enough to pass the tests I apply to it.

I have been writing poetry for so long now, and I have gleaned much from my many mistakes. I may not be able to predict skippable parts, but perhaps due diligence can guard against them.

Image: http://nikichanel.com

Tried and failed ... and trying again ...

8/31/2017

Resilience is a natural outcome of sequential failures while striving towards an ultimate goal. Or, as Nikola Tesla famously said it, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."

And, so have I, upon occasion. Fortunately, using digital media to type out my poems and blog posts saves me from having to frequently empty a garbage pail overflowing with waded up paper.

I’ve sometimes wondered just how high the heap would be in I had only availed myself of composing on disposable material instead, or how many bottles of correction fluid I might have emptied.

Recognizing failures and analyzing why they fail is key to growth. Losses can lead to success, eventually, providing one continues unabated at some point. Ah, but therein lies the precious key.

Growth requires patience and not a heavy, diligent hand. Whenever I encounter an impasse in my writing, especially one that really wracks my brain, I save it, close the program and walk away.

I have sometimes spent years on a poem, approaching it from a different angle, failing to resolve it, filing it away, and even rewriting it all over again. It feels like failure each time, but I keep at it.

Perhaps a piece requires room to germinate. Or could it be that I need to wait while my skills mature a bit more. Occasionally, I’ll read some excellent poetry to stimulate a broader scope of things.

Over these many years of writing rhyming, metered verse, I’ve learned to recognize when it’s simply time to stop. I do this out of respect for the piece rather than rushing it into a finished form.

Failing is generally part and parcel of achieving just about anything we hope to accomplish well. So excuse me while I pick myself up, dust myself off, and have another go at another poem.

Image: huffingtonpost.co.uk

Time to look myself in the I ... again.

8/24/2017

Decades ago, I had a brief brush with esotericisism. One proponent of that philosophical doctrine was P.D. Ouspensky, who postulated that we are each a collection of situationally dependent "I's."

For instance if you ask me today to help you move on Saturday, I would probably, and magnanimously, say, "Sure. I'll help you." But on Saturday, I might chide myself with, "What was I thinking?"

An interesting premise.

So, what would happen, I wonder, it I arrived at my friends location on the appointed day and declared that the wrong Janice had agreed to help out ... not the Janice who showed up, and wants to leave?

This doesn't quite work in real-world situations. Instead, if we find ourselves disinclined to help after all, we might offer tedious excuses, or simply not show up at all. Each of these options is disingenuous.

The same can be said of maintaining of blog, i.e., when the "I" which loves writing these posts is not in sync with the "I" which must be goaded up to the keyboard because my ideas are lurking elsewhere.

So, having boxed myself into a weekly blog schedule, the words, "What was I thinking?" frequently come to mind. However, knowing that my muse will eventually show up, this "I" will bide awhile.

And sure enough, voila! Another blog post emerges. For me, my multiple "I's" (if you accept this concept) tend to cycle around a bit, and I need only wait for the correct "I" to take its turn. No problem.

Image: momtastic.com

Free!!! My Echoes eBook is FREE!!!

8/16/2017

As I mentioned in my most recent blog post, the eBook of my first book of poetry, Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry, is FREE for download today and tomorrow ....... August 18th and 19th! .......

This book was 50 years in the making, so to speak, and it is my honor to offer you this free two-day giveaway. Simply click here for your FREE copy.

In this collection of my rhyming, metered verse you may decide to linger a while in Johnny's tavern, or experience a terrible shipwreck in 1739.

Replete with imagery, romance, and adventure, these poems are stories, intended to be experienced in your own time, in your own way.

Why not head on over to Amazon.com today or tomorrow and download your FREE e-Book of Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry by clicking here. Enjoy!

Image: Janice T

A short dissertation on "Show don't tell."

8/10/2017

Show, don't tell, is a technique of writing which lets the reader experience a story through action, thoughts, senses, and feelings rather than through exposition, summarization, and description.

During my adolescent years, one of my favorite authors was William Sydney Porter, who went by the pen name O'Henry. I loved his almost rather expert show, don't tell style of writing.

For example, my all-time favorite O'Henry sentence occurs when his main protagonist, Jeff Peters, introduces his friend, Andy Tucker, by way of the man's singular character trait:

"Whenever he saw a dollar in another man's hand he took it as a personal grudge, if he couldn't get it any other way." The Octopus Marooned.

In another example of Show, don't tell, Anton Chekhov writes, "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

And, in The Long Goodbye, Raymond Chandler illustrates the utter boredom of Philip Marlowe thusly: "Mostly I was killing time," he said, "and it died hard."

This technique is elemental to much of my poetry, especially when my aim is to envelop the reader in the ambiance of a piece, and serves as a handy short cut approach to the reader's imagination.

There it is: show, don't tell.

On a side note ... FREE DAY ... FREE DAY ... on August 18th and 19th my eBook, Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry, will be free for download on Amazon.com. Enjoy!!!

Image: http://www.chartvalley.com

Inadvertent success with ... love !!!

7/26/2017

A few years ago, while attending a writer’s conference, I decided to participate in a poetry workshop. I had apprehensions that I might be the only rhymer in the room, and ... actually, I was correct.

I soon realized that those who were leading these sessions were primarily advocating writing in prose form. Even so, I decided to stay with it … it was, after all, advertised as a “poetry” workshop.

During the course of that workshop, each of us was invited to read our poems at the podium. After we’d read our works, these professionals would then discuss and appraise our poems.

So, I selected a few of my favorite pieces to read aloud. Each day we listened, each day we read, and each day the teachers did their best to evaluate what we had presented right then and there.

As the days went on the instructors became perplexed by my style, noting that my poems began at one point, ascended in an arc, and ended perfectly. “That’s really hard to do,” they responded.

The final poem that I read to the room was “My Heart Upon A Loom.” At the far end of that room sat my family. I approached the dais, read the poem, and then quietly retook my seat

Then, they began their assessment of my poem by asserting and repeatedly insisting that one simply cannot use the word love over and over in a single poem. Meanwhile, my family sat there, aghast.

Because, nowhere, in that love poem, had I once used the word love! It simply wasn't there! I suddenly realized that I had managed to convey the essence, the ambiance of “love” clandestinely.

I listened to the teachers and nodded politely while my family snickered as quietly as they could manage. I was ecstatic with their inadvertent validation, but I said nothing in response to them.

To quote Napoleon Bonaparte, "Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake."

No, they were not my enemy, per se, but they were so locked into prose that they couldn’t really evaluate what I had done, poetically. I thanked them and excited that room a very, very happy poet.

Here is that final poem which I read aloud:

My Heart Upon A Loom
My heart upon a loom,
Each woven cord revealing
An incidence of you;
It's you who do the weaving.
Though guarded I this heart
'Neath coolest countenance
You took a gentler part
Than I could guard against.
My heart upon a loom
Which many years lay barren
And I seemed long unmoved;
Thus, uncompleted therein.
You took a crimson strand
Against my warning eye.
With patient, agile hand
You wove away the lie.
My heart upon a loom.
Now row by row a passion
By which I am consumed
Within this frame is fashioned.
A woolen cloak we weave
To keep us from such cold
As loneliness can breed
When maids and men grow old.

Image: http://pureheartllc.com

Now ... where is my Onomasticon?

7/11/2017

During one of his standup routines, Steven Wright - comedian, actor, writer, and Oscar-winning film producer - asked rhetorically, “What’s another word for Thesaurus?” I love his keen sense of irony.

Thesaurus: the book one turns to when one needs to know, “What’s another word for …”

When I finally stopped laughing I looked up thesaurus in my Thesaurus. What I found was: onomasticon! If I had heard this word out of context I probably would have envisioned dinosaur.

One of the things I love about the English language is how wieldable and pliable it is, especially so regarding irony. Some of my darkest works have benefited from the inclusion of an ironic ending.

So, what exactly is irony? According to dictionary.com it is "an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have, happened." It’s that humorous ending of a joke known as the punchline.

As to the Thesaurus, I relied heavily on mine when I began to write poetry at age eleven in order to boost my eloquence, but as my vocabulary grew I found myself referring to it less and less often.

Now, if I sit with an idea long enough, specific words rise up to meet it, to commune with my thoughts, working together, ferreting out exactly what I want to say, as my eyes begin to glaze, entranced.

I keep my Onomasticon handy for those events when I want to be sure that the word I’ve chosen is what I think it is in its broadest sense. It is still easier than I’d like to admit to be mistaken.

Oh, but I do so love words! They are my favorite toys.

Image: http://exilebibliophile.blogspot.com ... 'Bookworm' painting by Carl Spitzweg

Solarpunk Gauguin, and so much more.

7/6/2017

A few years ago, I shared a table with the author of the Clockwork Twist adventure series, Emily Thompson, where we signed and sold our books side by side. It was then that I became acquainted with the other writers in what was to become known as Author’s Row.

Later that year I was invited by the Clockwork Alchemy authors to participate in a new Steampunk anthology, to be titled 12 Hours Later: Twenty Four Tales of Myth and Mystery, containing stories, (or poems), each cleaved in two and finishing 12 hours later.

The following year, I participated in their second Steampunk anthology, titled 30 Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time, which followed the same design of bisected stories, (or poems), and included many of the authors of 12 Hours Later.

Most recently, they have produced a third Steampunk anthology, titled Some Time Later: Fantastic Voyages Through Alternate Worlds. I’d never written an alternate history poem before, nor read such works, so it took me a while to wrap my head around it.

Via email and whatnot, I and the other writers were able to gather the gist of each volume as they were being proposed and designed, which helped us to focus on the collectively agreed upon theme. In this latest book, the theme involved composing an alternate history.

I might have been feeling rather snarky the day I threw my idea their way, typing something about an alternate history involving Gauguin in Tahiti. As I happen to be a fan of Solarpunk, I began by trying to imagine a Solarpunk Tahiti. What is Solarpunk you ask?

“Solarpunk is a genre of Speculative Fiction that focuses on craftsmanship, community, and technology powered by renewable energy, wrapped up in a coating of Art Nouveau drawings. http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SolarPunk

It’s the visual aspects of Solarpunk which attract me to this genre, and for some reason the notion of Gauguin, Tahiti, and rewriting his history sprang to fruition. Mind you, I’ve never much admired Gauguin’s Tahitian works, nor Gauguin himself, but I went for it.

I knew his story, or so I thought, until I embarked on a deeper investigation into his life and times. Through this research I began to see a different man that the one I had envisioned, and I eventually came to think much more kindly of him, (not so much for his art).

And so was born my contribution to Some Time Later. If you’re already a fan of alternate history, (or if I’ve perhaps peaked your interest in it), I invite you to grab a copy of Some Time Later: Fantastic Voyages Through Alternate Worlds. It’s a really fun read.

This latest volume includes my poem: Solarpunk Gauguin. Enjoy!

Image: Steve Collis

Unstable blog site makes me ...

7/3/2017

American actor William Hurt once said, "You can only sit on the frustration of wanting to express something for so long."

I quite agree!!!

Now that I finally have that oar in the water and am ready to propel this boat forward, I find that this site has set things askew while I wasn’t looking. This time the link to my blog post became hidden from the home screen!

What good does it serve when one cannot find the link to blog posts on a blog site? Is one left to intuit that surely there must be a new post ... somewhere? This is but one of the many problems that I’ve encountered with Weebly.

Sure, it’s free. Sure, it’s easier to use, initially, for the less technically adept. Sure, I’ve been sticking it out with Weebly since February of 2013. And, to be sure, it and I have been at odds on numerous occasions ... such as now.

On the other hand, the very thought of switching to some other site, from which to thumb my nose at this one, feels incredibly daunting. Pardon me if I’ve said this all before. I’m fairly certain that I must have, given the nature of it all.

In this instance, I’d also like to add a cautionary note: despite the trepidation I feel in saying so, I may well be moving on to a more stable platform for this blog soon, or at least linking it through some other site. I will keep you apprised.

Image: http://successyeti.com

Excuse me while I grab that oar ...

4/4/2017

According to Donald Robert Perry Marquis ... poet, author, newspaper columnist, humorist and playwright ... "Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday." This is where I say, "Oops."

Oh, the disadvantages of putting off till tomorrow what needed doing months ago. My blogging boat has drifted in these idle waters for far too long. Well, not entirely "idly." There is the occasional ripple.

I have often looked in on this page, typed a word or two, and then ever so easily acquiesced to doleful indifference when "nothing at all" registers. What I mean is, it registers on me that nothing registers.

Best, at that point, to step away and try again later. If you've read through a bit of this blog you'll realize that I have been here many times before. This time, however, I have exceedingly overstayed.

There's a repetitious note in my calendar titled, "BLOG," which nags at me on Thursdays. So, I'd have another go at it, and so on. But, what do you know? I've actually composed a few paragraphs here!

Apparently, the impetus is in the doing and needs no whip master at all. Had I simply typed incoherent gibberish something would have eventually coalesced out of that morass of words, words, words.

Okay then, oar in the water and off we go in my blogging boat ...

A short dissertation on "Show don't tell."

3/24/2017

Show, don't tell, is a technique of writing which lets the reader experience a story through action, thoughts, senses, and feelings rather than through exposition, summarization, and description.

During my adolescent years, one of my favorite authors was William Sydney Porter, who went by the pen name O'Henry. I loved his almost rather expert show, don't tell style of writing.

For example, my all-time favorite O'Henry sentence occurs when his main protagonist, Jeff Peters, introduces his friend, Andy Tucker, by way of the man's singular character trait:

"Whenever he saw a dollar in another man's hand he took it as a personal grudge, if he couldn't get it any other way." The Octopus Marooned.

In another example of Show, don't tell, Anton Chekhov writes, "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

And, in The Long Goodbye, Raymond Chandler illustrates the utter boredom of Philip Marlowe thusly: "Mostly I was killing time," he said, "and it died hard."

This technique is elemental to much of my poetry, especially when my aim is to envelop the reader in the ambiance of a piece, and serves as a handy short cut approach to the reader's imagination.

There it is: show, don't tell.

On a side note ... FREE DAY ... FREE DAY ... on August 18th and 19th my eBook, Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry, will be free for download on Amazon.com. Enjoy!!!

Image: http://www.chartvalley.com

Yet another trip through the Doldrums ...

1/28/2017

Yes, I've been here before ... adrift on a this endlessly tranquil sea. It has been a struggle these past three months just to pick up the oar and row when the water all about me gives little or no resistance.

I'm fairly sure that I've discussed the Doldrums in this blog before, (or that I intended to). In any case ...

Nautically, emotionally, and creatively, the Doldrums is a stagnant place. This title was first used in 1765 in reference to an infamously lethargic area of the ocean which lies very near the equator.

It is an area beyond the standard shipping lanes, where there is little to no wind or current, and it is particularly dangerous for sailing vessels which carry no means of propulsion other than their sails.

The word doldrums comes from the Old English word, dol, which meant dull or foolish, and foolish indeed were those who found themselves stranded and ill-provisioned for possibly weeks on end.

Writers sometimes find themselves stuck in the doldrums, so to speak, for a period of time until an idea, an image, or some other impetus stirs them to resume their writing, just as have been stalled.

My timetable for writing this blog has gotten skewed from time to time, but this most recent lack of blog entries has gone on since October of last year! So, what has stirred me to resume now?

I do keep track of any interest in what I write here, and, though there has been no feedback to my posts in a long, long time, the Weebly website maintains a ongoing recording of recent and weekly views.

So, apparently, visitors do still pop in to read this blog from time to time. It was those reports which finally gave me the nudge I needed. I've never been into "collecting fans," but it really does help to know that you were here. Thank you, by the way, all you who come to call.
Sadly, I don't have any souvenirs from my recent trip through the doldrums, which should be lesson enough not to traverse them again. Okay, enough about that, then. On to the next post ...

Image: donnacicotte.com

Synesthesia and tea ... sublime poetry.

10/10/2016

About this time last year, I wrote a post about Synesthesia ...

"Synesthesia: a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway." Wikipedia.

A Synesthete simultaneously perceives more than one sense at a time, such as seeing the color of pain, feeling music brush across their skin, or hearing sounds when they encounter aromas.

Shortly after I wrote my post about this phenomena, I came upon Friday Elliott during the 2015 Steamposium Convention in Seattle, Washington, as she offered samples of her delicious tea blends.

Owner and operator of Friday Afternoon Tea, Friday disclosed that she utilizes her particular Synesthesia, called Lexical-gustatory Synesthesia of taste/smell to she create her remarkable tea blends.

For instance, while watching Firefly, a popular science fiction TV show, she was able to create a tea blend based on the character named Inara. When I tasted that blend I knew it was all about Inara.

"In the case of Inara," she said, "all her characteristics contribute bits and pieces to the overall flavor profile. Her speaking voice has a silky, almost creamy texture. The way she carries herself tastes like Madagascar vanilla. The strong, bold, yet cloistered nature of her personality is a family of spices, evolving over time."

"Synesthesia" comes from Ancient Greek: syn, "together, aisthesis,
"sensation," and it means "to perceive together." "I didn't realize I was not neurotypical until the age of seventeen." Friday related.

'I can taste all these things. Being a chef my entire adult life has helped me identify the various components of any given profile and pinpoint ingredient ratios. It's very much like reverse-engineering a dish I eat in a restaurant. Experience and a keenly trained palate make it possible for me to replicate in tea form what I taste in my brain-mouth." As such, Friday's particular Synesthesia is very rare.

I got to meet with Friday again at his year's Steamposium Convention. This time, I asked her to select a tea blend based on my personality. I am delightfully pleased with my OMFG Tea Blend!

Since this is blog is generally about writing, I am delighted to report that this blend is the perfect brew to savor when I'm working on a poem, with its golden hue, earthy aroma, and ethereal ambiance.

I encourage you visit Friday's website at: www.fridaytea.com

Image: http://fridaytea.com

... Steamposium Convention 2016 ...

9/27/2016

Normally, I like to announce in advance that I'll be attending and signing my books at an event, but this time it got away from me. There were issues with my latest books which needed my attention.

Timing is almost everything when preparing for such an event, and my timing was way off. When I discovered that they had not been properly edited, said books were already on their way to my door.

Thanks to my good friend, Heatherly Takeuchi, we shored up both Echoes lll and A Compilation of Echoes ... and then came the mad dash to republish, reorder, and receive them in a reasonable time.

To be honest, I am totally blind to my own typos, no matter how many times I scan a page looking for mistakes. Since, it was crunch time, I hurriedly ordered my books, thinking, "they'll be fine ..."

At first, as Heatherly's edits came rolling in, I figured they were miner enough to let them pass on the first run, (a comma here, a period there), but I was terribly, inextricably mistaken. /(O_O)\

It felt like the time when a police officer pulls you over for driving a bit fast and tells you that you would have made your appointment on time if you hadn't been speeding. Aarrrrggghhh!!!

Alas, those reordered books languished for a week before they were finally shipped, and then they dawdled at the local delivery site while someone tried to determine my well established street address.

Suffice to say, I was galvanized ...

Now, that's an interesting word: galvanized. It is the namesake of Luigi Galvin, (1737-1798) who observed that muscles contracted on contact with dissimilar metals. This led to the Galvanic Cell and the electrical theory of muscle control by nerves, (Bioelectromagnetics.)

In any case, my focus was fixed on my inbox awaiting news of their impending arrival, while I spent my energy on the phone, calling the shipper, then the delivery service, and back again. Where were they?

I was told that delivery was being delayed by a storm. "What storm? Where is this storm on such lovely sunny day?" I asked. Then, "I'm sorry, but there's only one sorter in the building, and it's going slow."

All at once, late in the afternoon, the day before we were set to leave for the venue, I was told that my books had been sorted, and that I could go down to the delivery warehouse to retrieve them. Yay!

All in all, the Steamposium Convention was fun and successful. I reconnected with old friends, met many awesome attendees, makers, and artists ... and I sold all but one copy of A Compilation of Echoes!

On the face of it all, I realized too late that I had followed a page out of John Madden's book, and ran with it: "Don't worry about the horse being blind, just load the wagon." Sorry, John. Never again.

Image: http://seattle-steamposium.com

Dancing my way through life ...

9/21/2016

In 2002, Miki Durnell Dauwe coined the phrase, "When you stumble, make it part of the dance." She uses this idiom to, "put a positive spin on my misfortune, which has caused me many struggles"

Miki suffers from Arnold Chiari Malformation, a neurological defect of the Cerebellum which affects the part of the brain that controls balance. "I have stumbled in my walk for years," said Miki.

Years ago, I heard about a pianist who lost track of what he was playing during a public performance. He just kept playing until he found his way again. The audience loved his "improvisation!"

The Reverend William Archibald Spooner, who lectured at New College, Oxford, for sixty years had a habit of switching words. For instance, he would say, "Go shake a tower" for, "Go take a shower."

Apparently, the Reverend's tongue could not keep up with his thoughts. He is famously known for his Spoonerisms, which are a genuine delight to those who are acquainted with his verbal mishaps.
I've watched a poem veer off on some wild tangent mid process, as if it had some purpose all its own. My Piratess poem did this, and it actually ended up a far better poem once I went with it, so to speak.

Miki's succinct phrase lends a healthy and rewarding approach to many of our maladies and misfortunes in life. Since we all stumble upon occasion, perhaps we just need to dust off our own Fred Astair.

Image: www.pinterest.com

Too many Echoes? Compile them ... !

9/7/2016

When my third book of verse needed a title, and I had chose to call it Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry, I put my foot down. "That's it! This is the final echoes. They're becoming superfluous."
(Oh, I do so love irony: superfluous = excessive = echoes.)

But, once I stopped laughing at my little inside joke, I realized that there was still one more book yet to print; a compilation comprising all three of my books. Hence, the title: A Compilation of Echoes.

This is not, by any means, the last book of verse that I plan to write. There are still plenty of poems patiently waiting in my Poetry Box, while my muse continues to softly whisper new ideas into my ear.

In the meantime, I am very excited and pleased to present to you:

A Compilation of Echoes.

I am pleased to announce: Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry.

8/31/2016

Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry is the third and last book in my Echoes poetry series. This series includes Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry and Echoes ll, More Neo-Victorian Poetry.

Each of these books is comprised of my older work, some dating back decades, as well as my current compositions. As such, they have served as my introduction into the world of published poetry.

No, I haven't stopped writing, nor have I completely exhausted my box of poetry which contains more of my earlier work. I have come to feel that it is time to move on; to explore other poetic projects.
I am so grateful to all who have read my work to this point. For those of you who have already purchased Echoes, and Echoes ll, this volume, Echoes lll, will complete your set. Onward to the next.

Skirmishes with self-imposed deadlines.

8/16/2016

Douglas Adams, scriptwriter, essayist, humorist, satirist, dramatist, and author of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, once said, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

But then on the other hand, according to Nolan Bushnell, who founded both Atari, Inc, and the Chuck E Cheese Pizza-Time Theaters chain, "The ultimate inspiration is the deadline."

So, there are those who can appreciate the structure of deadlines, and others who, like myself, tend to cower before their ominous and overwhelmingly irksome control of my time, and of me.

But, what happens when one's deadlines are all self-imposed? Might one might fall heir to "... needless shame and self-imposed disgrace," as cited in William Cowper's poem, titled Conversation.

Yes, one did ...

This blog began as a fairly rigidly paced biweekly post. At one point, I was cautioned to cut it back to once a week, so as not to burn myself out. It was good advice, though it tampered with my momentum.

Currently, any semblance of a deadline here is born of a feeble tugging in my heart, a tepid teasing at my mind, a faintly whispered longing, and then the screaming: "How long ago did I last post!?!"

A glance at my monthly calendar renders little clue as to why this blog is rather sporadic, because it doesn't show the occasional daily interruptions that are of little note. Untethered, this blog is afloat.

It was all too easily shoved aside while I worked on my next two books of poetry - soon to be released! - and while preparing for the Steamposium Convention in Seattle, Washington in September.

Even so, I've written an entire blog paragraph every day, and a few of them survived my edits! But, as Orson Welles said, "The enemy of art is the absence of limitations." Okay, okay ... I need a leash.

Image: susanmillard.wordpress.com