Slow Dancing (Guest Post)

It is with great pleasure I introduce to you D.B. Colson. A fellow poet with whom I am have fallen madly in love with his beautiful poetry. He is a man of great talent and with honor, he has allowed me to share it with you.

8140ac8bc37903d9743e85b0d910d568.jpg(Dancing Couple, Jack Vettriano, 1991)

 

Slow Dancing

In one another’s embrace

moving with each other

to the rhythm of

Fitzgerald and Bennett

 

Absorbed in sensation,

discovery and arousal,

neither future or past,

An exquisite memory

 

With many years since

and some idealization,

Something lost, grieved,

but not surrendered.

 

Yes, and most precarious

you remember me.

Own Your Truth

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(Still life of Writing, William Harnett, 1877)

Happy New Year! Or so you hope. But let’s face it. A New Year holds a lot of expectations that none of us will ever see fulfilled. New Year’s Day is just another day. Just another morning sunrise. Just another day to get out of bed. Just another cup of coffee. You aren’t any different than you were on December 31st.

But what does that mean? Are you not important? That you shouldn’t set goals to be better? No, but what should your real expectations be?

Own your truth.

Owning your truth means to take pride in who you are and what you do with no excuses or placed expectation of failure. I do that. I do that a lot. I need to stop.

I have written three novels, a collection of poems, have an ongoing blog, became an reoccurring editor for WFWA Industry News, had a poem and a review published, queried hundreds of agents and publishers, attended courses and seminars, joined writing groups, and become a full fledged writer in a matter of years. I am a writer! But I always, yes ALWAYS, say it with a disclaimer, “But my books aren’t published yet.” I invariably disclaim that I am a writer. I am not owning it. And when I don’t own it, my writing becomes insignificant. I devalue myself. My work. My sweat, blood, effort, and talent. But that isn’t the truth. And thus, I need to own the truth. I need to own up, claim my value, and stand proud…I am a writer!!!

To own it means I don’t have to make excuses for writing. I don’t have to fit it in my already busy schedule, or claim that I have “done nothing” all day when in truth I sat for hours with my fingers on the keys and my mind churning. To own my truth, as a writer, means what I do holds value.

When something holds value, you make time for it. (Tweet this)

I don’t need to set goals to write 10 minutes a day, finish my novel, or get published. Those are just things on a to-do list. But they aren’t real life changing resolutions. The bigger pictures is to claim my truth and see my life for what it is…valuable. To own my truth gives me the goal of living an extraordinary life. And that is a resolution that I can’t fail!

What is your truth?

It is a new year and there isn’t a place you can’t read about setting goals and grabbing what you really want out of life. Resolutions are terrific in theory, but they will most likely fade. They invariably always do. Setting goals is noble. But it also sets you up for failure, even limits the possibilities. You cannot set one goal or have any expectations of yourself if you don’t look yourself in the mirror and own the truth of who you are and the extraordinary life you really do have. Make each day fulfilling that goal.

Own it. Do it. Be it. 

Happy New Year and thank you for your support and reading my blog! I look forward to creating more writing that inspires you.

 

 

 

Set Before You

the-lovers-by-william-powell-frith-18551.jpg(The Lovers, William Powell Frith, 1855)

 

Set Before You

How many times do you look

but don’t see

Sentiments flowing like water

Expressing all that clutters my mind; my heart

but don’t hear

Written in solidness, ink dried, no denial or obfuscating

but don’t understand

It is put out there, no, thrown out there

As if it has a mind of its own; no willpower to be elusive

Nothing lies within the shadows

All truths set forth

Like sunlight so bright

It blinds; blurring what is right before you

Quiet in my reverie, but not illusive

Grasp, take what has always been yours

Through the veil of propriety

Not given by man, but deemed by our souls

I shall not deny you

 

 

 

Hear Me

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(On the Seashore, George Elgar Hicks, 1879)

Hear Me

You don’t listen,

You don’t listen,

You don’t listen!

The volume of my shadowed self

Expressing all that I am, all that need

Blocked, distorted, pushed away

You don’t listen

I plea, “Hear me!”

Bearing all of me

My soul, my heart, my guttural longings

You don’t listen

Held in contempt

Having to live up to those I am not

Those you value…over me

You do not listen

Your perception clouded in imagery

Wanting someone, something that does not exist

Never good enough

You do not listen

Unending tears; bleeding of the heart

Melancholia, disconsolate

Woeful of what is left of my life

You do not listen

You do not listen

You do not listen!

My Muse

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(Helga by Andrew Wyeth)  Flickr/Gandalf’s Gallery

My Muse

You don’t know I look at you

…the way I do

In wonderment; in yearning

Those eyes, dark and hidden

Depths so deep, I cannot find my way

My way to you

Closeted, kept under key

Safe from temptation, keeping all others out

Keeping me out

It does not stop me

From gazing upon your face

Taking in the light of God, it seems

“How can one be so perfected in such an imperfect world?” I wonder.

“I am not perfect…far from perfect,” You lament

I do not question the beating of my heart,  the weakening of my knees, or the illusory of my thoughts

I never knew there was such things…until you

Don’t berate me for longing, perfecting you with the paint fresh upon my canvas

Many things you have inspired

Immortal shall I make you

Unattainable by all; unattainable by me

You are all the person I have come to know, the lover I yearn for, the friend I need

Not just of lust, or the forbidden, but of the veiled attachment

Uniting the separated; completing the unfinished

Inspiring the creativity that resides in the essence of my being

The place where my soul resides

And where my love is imprisoned

Forever condemned to my musings

Released, bleeding ink upon parchment

Comfort

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(Die Unschuld (The Innocent), 1904, Sarah Flintzer)

Hush,

My love

Rest your thoughts

Lean into my breast

Fall into my warm embrace

Let your body collapse into mine

And your soul drift unto the heavens

Revelations of Truth

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(Blue Nude, Pablo Picasso, 1902)

 

Revelations of Truth

I am already a woman of failure

Less than worthy to be admired

The benefactress of ridicule…the butt of jokes as if it is fair game

My life…my mistakes, my blunders, my missteps,

(My losses, my heartaches, my despair)

I cannot change what I have been, my life of love so failed

On display for commentary by all…by you

Your kindness towards me a mere charade of your perception

A pretense of your mockery

But to fail as a mother…

The one thing you hold sacred

No…

I am not ready to see that judgment in your eyes

You won’t be able not to

It will come so naturally you will wonder how you ever saw me differently before

No…

I am not ready for the finger pointing

The talks behind my back

The judgements…the judgments, always the judgments

As if I have not pointed my own finger at the woman in the mirror…stared at the woman in pathetic examination

As if my head has not rattled the million thoughts of my failures; my  own vilification

As if I have not been my own court of condemnation; flogging my soul with damnation

No…

Not now

I am not ready to reveal my weakest part

I am not strong enough

Not yet…not to you

The Road Less Traveled

recovery-1221737__340.jpgIt has been awhile. The thought of writing my blog has haunted me. Not that I don’t love it. I just have been working on my novels. And boy do they need work! I’ve come to learn, I am not a great writer.

Hmmmm, I am not sure I had proclaimed I was…but all the same, I do need to hone my craft. I think I always knew that in the back of my head. I just was so excited to get the story out of my head, I didn’t stop to make sure my writing was up to standards. I need to learn to write well. Write beautifully…not just beautiful stories.

So, in my pursuit to be ‘the best that I can be,’ I have been working on writing. I have been writing non-stop for months. It is endless, but I think I am making progress. I took a two day course with an amazing coach, Margie Lawson, and have now purchased a few more courses from her. SHE IS AMAZING…did I already say that? As I told her, it was like she cleaned my windshield and now I can see the road more clearly. My writing is better…much better because of her. I also realized how little I really know about being a writer. With craft books purchased, writing seminars planned, and even a writing class in the future maybe I will not only create beauty for the mind, but write beautiful words for the eyes.

Which leads me to my real reason to write today. I am in a quandary: Write the way I want, or write what the publishing world is asking?

Of course, you would say, do research and find out what others are doing. Well, that is just the problem. EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION. Every writer, every agent, every publisher.  The advise is wide and splintered.

“Write to the genre standards.”

Haven’t big books, successful books, talked about books been out of the box?” Certainly Harry Potter’s magical world was not so common when written. It wasn’t even meant for children. There were horror books before, but Stephen King’s psychological terror meshed with superstitions and the supernatural brought on a whole dimension people had never really imagined. He didn’t make you imagine…he made it reality!

“Write for you.”

Everyone…and I mean EVERYONE has a story. Not necessarily a story most people want to hear let alone read 300 pages. Writers are as diverse as civilizations. Different things appeal to different people. That is the beauty of writing, and the importance of finding your market/readers. Now, getting published when your readers/market is not “popular” (Wicked’s song is now playing in my head) is the battleground writers must overcome. The publishing world is definitely a popularity contest. And there is an inner circle. (That is a whole other blog.) But writers must also admit, there are many stories that people may never want to read…so not every story that you want to write is going to be appealing. Not every story you write needs to be published.

“Write for the reader.”

Readers do know what they like…until you give them something new and then they like that too! Readers are the greatest fans. They enjoy reading and will read what is given to them. But…the publishing world is losing sight of something that isn’t really being monitored. Readers aren’t always enjoying what they are reading. What is being published isn’t always what readers are craving, nor exciting them. They will read what the New York Times tells them too. They read because they want to read. They read because they can’t not read…give them a book, any book, and they will read it. But that doesn’t necessarily equate to what they seek, want, or are looking for.

And the final advise is invariably, “Write what is in your heart.” (Can you hear my breathy voice oozing with sarcasm??????) Can we say, “Bullshit!”

Isn’t the whole point of creating to bring something new, open minds, and offer refreshing perspectives? Giving readers more than they could ever imagine or think? Isn’t that why we write? Doesn’t that have value?

Okay, I get it. Give them what they want and that should equate to success. (Or so I am told.) Creating isn’t always about breaking the mold. Sometimes…no a lot of times…it is about painting the same mold different colors, or dressing it in new outfits, or even doing nothing at all but presenting it on a different shelf, or in a different city. I get it. Not all creative venture is life changing.

My writing isn’t life changing. And according to my editor who, and I quote, “Wanted to throw the first twelve chapters of my latest novel against the wall,” my writing isn’t all that great either. But I do have a distinctive purpose for my writing, making my style unique, and out of the box. In other words, I am not in the popular group!

Do I quit? Do I just give up and say, “Writing is not my destiny.”

As pathetic as this may all sound, I am an ass kicker! I have lived my whole life walking outside the line. Not in a rebellious way. I am as prim and proper as they come. Thrill seeking is not my forte. But, I have always been an outsider…followed my own path. And I do what I do with conviction and strength. It is the only way I have survived the knock down punches, rejections, scoffing, finger pointing, teasing, and judgments.

I am a stand alone woman.

Have I been successful? I guess it is how you look at it. Successful at being me? Absolutely. Successful with fame and fortune….not so much!

Is it hard? DAMN SURE! I may be a stand alone woman, but I still break. I still succumb to self doubt. I am human.

So, here I am. My quandary to write the way I started…write in a style that is all mine? The reason I started writing? Or, do I succumb to the masses and just put a personal shade of lipstick on the mold?

I am not good enough to be blazing new roads. Not yet. I need to be able to travel where others have gone, to get where I am going. But, it is at a sacrifice to my creativity. I am trying to balance both…and in the meantime, work on my craft so that maybe…I will be able to pull aside and take an unknown route that has my name on it.

Thy Will

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(Apollo and Clytie, Laurent de La Hyre, 1627)

Thy Will

Upon thy will

I am yours

For all eternity

 

Look, I will not turn away

Touch, I shall shiver

Kiss, I shall breathe you

 

For all eternity

I am yours

Upon thy will

 

Let me go…