Saturday, August 2, 2014

A Writer Writes!

Why do I write? Or better yet, why do I WANT to write? Especially when not writing causes me such anxiety and angst. I see writer friends on Facebook, drumming out stories, celebrating their writing success with their latest publication. I was once of those people. I've basked in the evanescent glow of the newly published author. AND I've been able to do it more than once, which is a feat in itself. 

What's more I enjoy writing. I mean I really love putting pen to paper and words on the page. The thrill of finding just the right word and constructing the perfect sentence is like no other. I'm sure that's true for just about everyone who calls themselves a writer.

I've got more stories than I know what to do with. That's part of the "problem." Focus. I hesitate to call it a problem since there are so many writers out there longing for ideas. But having too many ideas can be just as bad as having not enough. I know I can hunker down and finish a piece of writing. Hell, I've done it before and with great success.

I get tired of making excuses though. Or I should say I AM tired. Dagnabbit, shit or get off the pot. Just do it. Make it happen. Stop with the pitiful reasons why you don't do what you say you want to do. I want the joy back. I know it's within my reach. The stories are waiting patiently (or maybe not so patiently) to be written. They want their day in the sun. Do I have any right to deny them (or my readers) that privilege? No, I say. Shut up and write!

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Spontaneous Rhyme

I like my poems short and sweet,
just enough words, spare and neat.
A hit and run, a punch in the gut,
A silken caress, a soft whisper, but...
Sometimes it doesn't work out you see.
Sometimes the words won't let me be.
They tumble out, I'm helpless to stop them.
Close in and surround me,
oh where do they come from?
I'm forced to give in, to allow them their song.
I like my poems short, but...
they like them long.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

A Walk by the Sea

I'm running out of things to write about so I'll write about walking by the sea.
I don't live near the sea but I wish I did.

If I did I'd walk by the sea every day.
Relish the music of the roaring waves.
Inhale the bracing salt sea air.
Watch the start of a new day's sunrise.
Or the ending at sunset.
I could fall asleep reading a thick novel on a plaid blanket under a striped umbrella. 
I could roll up my pants, walk to the very edge of the ocean and experience that disorienting sensation of movement as the tide rushes out.
I could swim. 

But maybe if I lived by the sea, walking by the sea wouldn't seem so necessary.
Or exciting.
Or important.
So I wouldn't do it.
Like living in NYC and never going to the Empire State Building 
Or seeing a Broadway play.
You know it's there. You'll get around to it eventually. Maybe not. No hurry.
I hope that never happens.
I hope a walk by the sea will always be important, exciting and necessary.
I hope it will always hold the magic that it holds for me now.