My first attempt at Haibun. I often dream of living in a cabin in the woods. Handed the chance to live life over again, I would choose a career as a Forest Ranger, managing forests, assisting people who understand them, teaching those who don’t. Look now through my eyes How vision winds endlessly Look there! Do you see? I always felt I was born two-hundred … Continue reading Wanderlust – Haibun
My first attempt at Haiku. Many thanks to Hannah for the inspiration 🙂 Flying on the wing Cross wind changes direction Wife calls to dinner Continue reading Haiku: On the Wing
I love ramen. I could eat it every day. My wife is Japanese but that isn’t why I love ramen. Her mother was a wonderful cook, but she isn’t the reason I love ramen either. Her dad was born in Honolulu to immigrant parents. Nor he or they. They worked in the pineapple fields and later cut sugar cane. Mr. Ono was a WWII hero … Continue reading Ramen
Curled up in ringlets Electric parts of you, Shoulder length distractions Thoughts are all askew, Hope for sleep abandoned Your pillow’s made for two, Nose to nose connection Our favored point of view. Random touches, random whispers, Fingers playing finders keepers, Hidden fragrance in your smile, Let me breathe you for a while. Chastened by your virtue Encouraged by your sighs Midnight flame rekindled My … Continue reading Curled Up In You
Well, TwitBook came and electrified Put-down words and the antikind Pushed around the peaceful sign New hope for the feeble mind Polished speech from political swine Faceless screeching twittering tool Stubborn resistance like a mule Spreading by-waste as a rule Clueless, useless as a fool Stuffing blinded eyes with wool Rolled downhill like a stowaway Stepped on you like a runaway Took the dark one’s … Continue reading TwitBook
Get up, get out, go back to him Do it now it’s sink or swim I am not the one you want You’re just tired of the hunt It was all a mistake, I see it clear What looked like love was only fear Of going out on my own, alone, I let you put me on a throne You stick to me like dried … Continue reading Get Up, Get Out, Go Back To Him
Susanna Avila, my Catalan beauty, woman of Spain. Coy smile held mystery, Unknowable history, Too briefly our souls entwined; This beauteous love, my destiny. Soulful gaze, emerald eyes piercing, Black hair dancing with night, Skin purest translucent white, Slender and graceful, slim elfin form, Delicate, raven-haired sprite. Ivory shoulders, smooth marble breast, Face fairer than Venus’ race, Spirit virgin, chaste, Ethereal, supernal essence; Tender, enchanting … Continue reading My Catalan Love
From my amniotic nest I emerge untainted into the cold metallic light and harsh steel voices disconnected from the comforting lullabies that whispered through my forming bones; with the cast of a stone I become a changeling and tremble wailing before those who will taint me with their jealous love and solemn oaths. Some things we learn and some we’re taught, others are innate; defenseless … Continue reading Cast the First Stone
🙂 This should be hummed to a happy tune 🙂 (but I didn’t need to tell you that ❤ ) When I was a young boy, I wished for the world When I grew up I found such a beautiful girl She loved me and I loved her And our love made the world a wonderful blur Around and around and around we danced Oh, … Continue reading She Loves Me and I Love Her
Birthed in promises unspoken, on a bed of dreams and ghosts, I grasped the pleading in his heart, but faltered at the post; Desperation’s embattled prayer in a father’s grasp for fate, For all of that I could have done it’s too little and too late. Hiding from the ancient child weeping alone inside my head, Looking down at no one, looking up at those … Continue reading Fathers and Sons
Love arrives breathing, warming love that develops, pulses from your heart, love beating keeping time, love’s symphony surrounds us, Love. Love before death, soothing love that envelops, light dimming in your eyes, love cherished and remembered, love’s eyes closed forever, Love. Continue reading Love, Ten Times Over
I wish I could ride a skipping stone far and far across the sea And skip ashore that distant land where flew the dreams I’d dreamed I’d follow my dreams to where she lay dreaming my dreams of her And wake her from deep slumber and gather her into me To tell her how I’d longed for her but feared she were a dream A … Continue reading Skipping Stones
I come to Fox Island to meditate, to reflect as I gaze across the water. The hypnotic sound and motion of sea and wind, crashing wave and crying gull become a lyric in the song of the universe.The earthly presence of the granite beneath me, the salt air and the pungent odor of decaying sea-wrack give way to the ethereality of thought and I wander … Continue reading Fox Island, revisited
I’m feeling my way through this “dabbling” in experimental writing. The last time he visited Barcelona, he was alone. I was dead. He returned to our beloved city knowing he would find pain but hoped the numbness would lift as he remembered me in the neighborhoods of my youth. Instead, he found the city also in mourning. The warm glow of Gaudi’s lanterns had … Continue reading Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Alternating POV / Reality
Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and commented on my recent flurry of Novel posts. Most were long reads–over 2,000 words–so I appreciate that you took the time to read them. I’ve finished revising the novel from third-person POV to first-person POV and the difference is remarkable. It was a lot of work, but the story is now a much better read. I’m working … Continue reading Thank You
Thank you so much for reading along and supporting my effort. This novel is thirty years in the making and has been a journey of remembrance, blood, sweat, and tears. Most of the characters are based on real people. Tom’s and Sam’s Susanna was my girlfriend when I was stationed in Spain; yes, she died. Aida was a girlfriend in the Philippines. Lek was an acquaintance in … Continue reading Status: A Wished-For Love
God, how I love writing in the zone. That period when your whole mind is so focused on the story that the story absorbs you and you become your protagonist. His emotions are yours, the blood racing through his veins is yours and the poundpoundpound of his heart is the poundpoundpound of your heart. The dialogue pours out, the conversation moves forward, the emotions tear … Continue reading Writing in “The Zone”
Somehow I’ve contrived to lose a draft post of a little over 200 words. It’s quite deflating to see a work of two months flushed away into WordlessPress Land and not know how it happened. When I left the draft yesterday evening I felt it was shaping up into something I would be ready to post this weekend. My six verses of lyrics titled “Shake … Continue reading Beelzebub – I Lost a Draft!
Have you ever wondered why a blog goes silent? I get worried when bloggers I particularly love have not posted in a while. I become concerned when I try to visit their site to see if I’ve missed a new post and the site doesn’t come up. Such is the case with Victoria. I’ve followed her blog for several years and find her posts, especially her … Continue reading Wherefore Art Thou?
I remember the night I fell for you, our romance and a lifetime of nightlong dreams. The dreams where you whisper so close to me, seeding memories inside my mind. And when I awake I think you are there and reach up to touch you but clutch empty air, then flinch from the gut punch when I know you’re a spirit and gone. I fall … Continue reading Of Love and Moonsweat
This post from Ana. P. Rose inspired me. Art is truth. Telling the truth is art. When the rejections roll in and it seems like nobody likes your story; when it seems like your work is going nowhere; when you feel like giving up and smashing the keyboard, remember you are an artist and you are writing the truth. Van Gogh’s success came only after … Continue reading Dear Artists, by Ana P. Rose
I wish there were more moments to recall, the ones that show us naked and afraid. Instead, I recall our time together as projections of idealized portraits, retouched and photo-shopped by minds unable to bear the sharp edges and blunt-force trauma that lovers stumble through along the boulder-strewn road of romance. I don’t want to recall only the good moments but the ungood moments too, but maybe it’s better that … Continue reading Of Love and Memories
I wondered for a moment if she were kneeling, perhaps stocking the shelves, she barely peeked over the bar, but her Spanish green eyes were bright when she smiled and she told me she didn’t live far; she reached to my shoulders in her bare feet, not much higher in heels, and from my towering perch I never mentioned the few stray, white hairs she couldn’t … Continue reading My Spanish Love
I’ve read some of Hemingway’s advice in other places, but this post pulls a lot of the best together. I was unaware of Arnold Samuelson and his connection to Papa; what a great story! Best of all, Hemingway shares his reading list for writers. Thanks to Abigayle Blood for the post. Enjoy! “As a writer you should not judge. You should understand,” Ernest Hemingway (July 21, 1899–July 2, 1961) counseled … Continue reading On Writing: Hemingway on Writing, Ambition, the Art of Revision, from Abigayle Blood at Writer’s Blog
“Thank you for submitting your query for A WISHED-FOR LOVE to (this) Literary Agency for our consideration. Unfortunately, we’re going to pass at this time, as your beginning just didn’t hook us. We know you’ve put a lot of time and effort into your project, but do keep at it! The publishing industry is very subjective, so what may not work for us could be just … Continue reading We’re sorry…
Flowered, freckled skin, Pink fleshy pulp; Salivating senses Anticipate pink flesh; Your fresh scent, Erogenous, Raising hairs along my neck; Alive, electric, eager Shocks jolt my tongue-tip Tasting your pleasing juice. Flesh-pulp rivulets drown my chin; Cheeks aflush with pleasure. Strawberries tease my taste buds. Reposted from 2015 Continue reading Flowered, Freckled Skin
I found this poignant. You need to know yourself in order to know your voice. What I mean by “finding your truth” is not of a doctrinal nature, but simply uncovering your conviction as a communicator. via Finding your Truth — beard with a blog Continue reading On Writing: Finding your Truth, from timholman, beard with a blog
This dark and deep poem from Joseph Emerson comes from the soul and brings to the surface the fears we all have about living life to the fullest without wasting a moment. I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in, I punched my way through the tamped surface a ghost of a chance, that I’d let … Continue reading On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,
Along the beach above the waves Smoothed by time A stone; Purposeless, I suppose, No reason I could tell For stone and me to meet. Some day hence I too will lie Worn by time And weary; The query now, I suppose, The answer I think I know: In life, did purpose meet? I threw the stone into the sea Hard and far from whence … Continue reading The Journey
I wrote an essay for this blog a couple years ago about what it feels like to be a military brat and not have a hometown. Other military brats will understand what I mean. I was born in Turkey and lived in several places before Dad finally retired in Tampa. Dad was born and raised in Bradenton, Florida, Mom in Nederland, Colorado; they had hometowns. … Continue reading Hometowns
Just a quick check-in to say hi and apologize for my inattention to your posts. I love your work and take something away from every post I read. Your words and writing inspire me and lead me to aspire to write better. My absence is not without purpose: I’m engrossed in editing my novel, A Wished-For Love, and I’m zooming right along. I feel like … Continue reading Writing is Eternal Life
By Stephen McGuinness I feel my footsteps Count down days With chimed strokes Resonant, reflective. A sinus wave hearbeat Synchronous vibrations of Train beaten whispered Words on tracks. Calm, a balm, a salve. Chantors: ancient haunting Mantras, dripped holy oils. Smoke in tendrils, lifting, Rising: one, two, three, Expectant tension then Reassuring: four, exhale To begin once more. Repetition, confirmation, prediction. We seek out rhythm, … Continue reading Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.
By Stephen McGuinness Hanging yellow smoke, Remnant of blue coal Fire, retreats, yields ground To offered stars, becoming Magnificent in abundance. Time, slowed with motion, Allows a reluctant sun, Lazy with sleep, to Couple with a blind, Impatient world. Warmed colours run, then, Easily into one another. Streaks of glaring light Shower brazen stripes Over bleached winter streets Burdened with yawned Traffic, ploughing heavily Towards … Continue reading February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.
When I was twelve or so, Dad told me to get off my derrière and earn some money. So, I started pushing the lawn mower around the neighborhood. Thankfully, since we had a corner lot, he’d bought one of those new fangled self-propelled machines. It made it easier, but no less tedious, to mow that forty thousand acre yard in the hot Tampa summer. And … Continue reading Tampa Boy’s First Job
This is a sort of stream-of-consciousness essay. I’m pretty sentimental. Forgive the errors; I’m posting just as I posted it elsewhere. Mr. Linares tried his best to make me enjoy vocational drafting at Tampa Tech, but I hated it and joined the Navy instead. I worked on Navy aircraft for thirty years, both enlisted man and officer. I was stationed on Diego Garcia in the … Continue reading Tampa Boy
What I fear most when I appear at the gates of Heaven is a question: “My son, why did you kill the sparrow?” I raised my BB gun and aimed; At the end of the cold steel barrel sat the sparrow singing its song of joy, and happiness, and innocence; I pulled the trigger and let fly the BB; The golden pellet raced through the … Continue reading The Question
I praise you I praise you Let me lie beside you Let me lie beside you I hear the song of your spirit in the wind soughing past my ear; I smell the scent that fills me in the rose that is the vessel and the blessed fragrance in your smile. Your hair is trimmed in golden like the leaves within the Bible, and I … Continue reading I Praise You
Enchanted by the stars, like smelling roses, Anticipating the rush of a meteor flash Or Saturn’s rings in full-on view and Europa, Like Andromeda’s spiral, in ageless lights of time, And my heart pumps a million times a minute When sun bids day adieu amidst a host of glory, And that spinning dance and flash of white That reveals your teeth in brilliant, ecstatic smile … Continue reading Every Night With You
. The adventure continues! Chapter 7 With few cars in the Clinic parking lot, Lennie parked near the entrance. The receptionist smiled in greeting. “Hi Lennie. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.” “Yep. Which is a good thing, in my opinion. Is Dr. Mays free? I’m a Keeper and my charge here needs to get checked out.” […] via The Archivist — … Continue reading The Archivist — Lenara Lenquil Adventures — Chapter 7, by Anna Dobritt
absolution hmmm hhuhhh hmmm hhuhhh bundled and warm cold crisp air stings with each inbreath hmmm hhuhhh tears drawn away by the cold or are they hmmm hhuhhh hmmm hhuhhh muffled but heightened as within the confessional silence descends as Nature dons her alb hmmm hhuhhh a puff of warm air echoing as through a long narrow cylinder … Continue reading Absolution
Ripples in a pond fretting amid damp earth’s fragrance whose deep-anchored tendrils curl around and around and up and up to caress and nurture. Focused on the footpath. Rigid muscles and throbbing temples. Panting. Impeding scales fall away as sunlight breaks through a misty veil of sweat. Pause. Beyond the trees a beckoning forest and a horizon, and mountains soften into hills. Renewal. Gaining the horizon. Footpath … Continue reading Fretting
Great story and writing by Anna Dobritt! Chapter 5 At the apartment, Nickie changed into sweatpants and a tank top, before putting her new clothes away. Finished, she went to the living room. Seated on the couch, she lit a cigarette. I can’t believe I’m living in an apartment now. She watched the smoke drift away. Lennie seems like a nice […] via The Archivist — … Continue reading The Archivist — Lenara Lenquil Adventures — Chapter 5, by Anna Dobritt – Author
As you scatter like chickens for the silver pieces flung from the hand that grips the iron yoke about your neck, Reach for the man’s handout and let your children suffer until they’re herded together and led to the slaughter. Isolated behind a weeping wall of Sunday faith and piety, you turned a blind eye to the coming evil Godless horde That connived to dismantle … Continue reading Jericho
The adventure continues! The wind picked up as the rain moved closer. Scraps of paper and debris swirled in the street. Lennie kept an eye on the buildings to either side. People living in them could dart out into the street for whatever crazy reason. At the end of the road, she turned left, drove along […] via The Archivist — Lenara Lenquil Adventures — Chapter … Continue reading The Archivist Lenara Lenquil Adventures, Chapter Four, by Anna Dobritt
The third chapter from Anna’s exciting series! Chapter 3 Outside, traffic had increased. “I think I’ll take the secondary streets.” The clouds were darker and heavier the smell of rain carried by the breeze. “Looks like we’ll be getting some rain.” On the drive to the river a dark red car with tinted windows kept close. Definitely not a police car, I […] via The Archivist … Continue reading The Archivist Lenara Lenquil Adventures, Chapter Three, by Anna Dobritt
More great writing know-how from Anna Dobritt – Author! Who Lurks There? Friend or Foe? In another article, Getting to Know You, I covered the main character, your protagonist. Today I’m covering the bad guy. He or she is your antagonist. This person is responsible for making life difficult for your main character and the supporting characters. As you did with your main character, […] via … Continue reading On Writing: Who Lurks There? Friend or Foe? By Anna Dobritt
This article by Nathan Bransford describes the difference between Commercial, or Mainstream, Fiction and Literary Fiction. There are dozens of articles devoted to the differences between the main genres of fiction, but Nathan’s unique definition makes it clear enough to understand. I think a lot of writers believe “literary” means smarter or intellectual. Maybe so. It may be tempting for some writers to use the thesaurus … Continue reading On Writing: What Makes Literary Fiction Literary? By Nathan Bransford
Excellent post! Excellent source of resource material for writers. Make sure you follow the link to Jami Gold’s website. Miss this, and miss the writing boat! Originally posted on Samantha House: For those of you who follow me on Instagram you’ll have seen that I’m editing again. This time around I’ve been using the Elements of a Scene Worksheet by Jami Gold and freaking hell has … Continue reading On Writing: Elements of a Scene, by Samantha House
Reblogged from Anna Dobritt – Author A Writer’s Perspective on Reading Yes, I am a writer. I love to write. I love making up stories about unusual pictures such as abandoned buildings, foggy forests, ravens, and writing prompts. I’m even learning to write short personal essays, which are hard for me. However, I am also a reader. If I could figure […] via A Writer’s Perspective … Continue reading On Writing: A Writer’s Perspective on Reading — by Anna Dobritt — Author
I come to Fox Island to meditate, to reflect, to gaze across the sea until the hypnotic sound and motion of sea and wind and crashing wave become a lyric in the song of the universe. The worldly presence of the granite beneath my bottom, the salt air, and the pungent odor of decaying sea-wrack give way to the etheriality of thought and I wander … Continue reading Rebirth
