Back On the Bandwagon! #Writerslife

Finally, have a new computer! Actually, it’s a (HP) laptop. Since I’ve never owned one before it has been a bit of a challenge getting used to the smaller screen and the compact keyboard; but, I can type again (no more finger-tapping on a tablet)!

Another challenge I’m facing is that I don’t have Word installed. On my old desktop, I was still working with the 2003 version which came with the computer, free! Guess they don’t do that anymore which sucks, but oh well. Now, I’m trying to figure out what’s the best way to get one–any suggestions?

Overall, I’m just really grateful to have something other than a tablet to work with especially as a writer who likes to type fast.

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Broken (Poem)

 

*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate. 

I’m experimenting with yet another form of poetry, Gogyohka

 

 

Broken

 

a shattered vase

on the floor

water spreading like blood

I can’t breathe

as the pieces of my heart pierce the skin

How Confident Are You (As A Writer)?

Pixabay

*Note: I’m participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate. 

 

So, really, how confident are you in yourself as a writer and in your writing abilities?

Personally, I can say without hesitation that I have very little confidence in myself as a writer, and many times this lack of confidence stops me from writing.

How sad is that?

What’s holding me back? What am I really afraid of?

Fear of failure? Of what others think about my stories and poems? Fear of success?

What???

The only answers that keep coming back to me are:

I need to write.  I need to tell my story-in my own way.  The price is too high NOT to write.

Again, what??? These tell me nothing about what I’m afraid of.

Then, another answer rings through my head:

My writing has to be perfect. If I can’t get it just right with the first try, why bother? I’ll never be good enough anyway.

Oh…yeah…this one cuts deep.  I keep going back to trying to be good at that one thing. It’s the search that never ends. It all goes back to my childhood when my (hearing) disability made me feel inferior to other normal kids (because they’d thought me strange because I spoke funny, or heard things incorrectly and they’d laugh at me, or called me “booby” when I acted clueless to what was going on around me, etc.). Or when I learned I was slowly losing my sight at the age of 21 just when I was beginning to get a feel of what I wanted for in a career, and this diagnosis shook my confidence, no, it destroyed it, and I gave up any and all aspirations.

On the other side, people who’ve known me for most if not all of my life would tell me how feisty I was when I was younger, how much harder I worked at something when the others believed I’d never be able to accomplish, and I’d do just that, how the guy who used to call me names found out one day he’d pushed me too far when I shove him against a wall with a hockey stick (he never bothered me again after that), and on and on.  My own mother said I was the strongest person she’d ever known, and how I was an inspiration to her.

Now, I look at the mirror and I can’t see that girl anymore.

Where did she go?

But, the real question is:

Will she ever return? Is it possible to become that girl again? 

I can’t help but  to feel so lost. How did I end up being this lost? But, is that necessarily a bad thing? A quote I read some time ago came back:

Sometimes the only way to ever find yourself is to get completely lost.” – Kellie Elmore

I feel there is truth to this quote. I also believe that the path to re-discovering myself will be through writing; and in writing, I believe I will regain my confidence.

 

 

Heart (a Found poem) #Write28Days #Poetry

Pixabay Free Images

 

*Note: This form is called “found” and I’ve taken snippets from several of my favorite songs to create this particular poem.

 

Heart

 

is a hollow muscular organ 

influenced by hard rock and heavy metal 

 

pain 

shortness of breath 

 

You know something here just ain’t right

what about love?

 

Baby, don’t hurt me

don’t hurt me no more

 

Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals

but the scar, that scar remains

there’s nothing I can do

 

Total eclipse of the heart

 

Baby, I won’t shed a tear for you

I was such a fool

boy, I gave you all my heart and all you do is tear it up

 

We could have had it all,

but

this hollow heart of mine

is ringing out the song of hope

for I have

the heart of a fighter

 

I will survive

 

 

 

Dance (A Cento Poem)

by gillesgrimoin on DevianArt

 

 

Is that dance slowing in the mind of man

The head of a sleeping man

My mind was going numb –

I need a place to sing, and dancing-room,

Wrecked, solitary, here –

All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations —-

With blood

And then I heard them lift a Box

The deathly guests had not been satisfied

 

 

*Taken from the following poems:

Waking In Winter by Sylvia Plath

God Lay Dead In Heaven by Stephen Crane

I Felt A Funeral In My Brain by Emily Dickinson

The Dance by Theodore Roethke

 

Ever Had Days When…. #Write28Days #WritingCommunity

 

…you feel like a total reject?

This usually happens when we start comparing ourselves to other writers and authors.

And when we do this, ever notice how the doubts creep in, and suddenly all our writing just stop?

So my question to you is this: What do you do to combat this?

Saturday Story: Suppose

 

*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate. 

 

Suppose

 

Scared witless, he slammed the company’s truck to a full stop and watched as the radioactive sludge engulfed the town. Strangely, the first thought to come to mind was- “Dang, I suppose I should have lowered those control rods.”

The Night Is My Friend; The Darkness Is Not

 

*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate. 

 

While growing up, nighttime used to be my favorite time.

I remember playing tag-in-the-dark with friends during the Wednesday’s youth group. Or, sledding down the hills behind our house- never mind the fence of stones waiting near the bottom.  I remember camping in the pop-up out in our backyard-the full moon made it clear as the day.

There were nights when I used to sneak out of the house and wandered down the road, to the mighty rapids, and sat on the rocks, under the rays of the moon. The sound of the water roaring against the bedrock always reminded me that nature can be a great healer.

My imagination would come alive as soon as the sun set, and the stars revealed themselves through their shimmering glory.

But, at some point in my latter teenage years, a veil came over and hid all the beauty of the night. Without any warning, darkness crept in and I’d soon learned its name which forever changed my life.

It’s been a few decades now, and I still enjoy the night, but it’s no longer the same; not since the darkness invaded, and had grown considerably since.

I may be losing my sight, but I will always have the memories of my time spent in the night.  All I need to do is close my eyes, and I’m back in the outdoors gazing up at those countless beautiful stars.

To Build Or Not To Build #Write28Days #Writerslife

 

*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate. 

 

Build

 

A writer is not just a creator,

she is a builder

of kingdoms and worlds

constructing and putting together

all the pieces that make up the story

giving life

to characters, large and small

painting, sculpting

to bring each setting to

its glorious and colorful

splendor

To build, create

is every writer’s hidden power

whether she choose

to give it life, or not

lies in her hands