An interesting expression
Is “the world’s oldest profession”.
Many a confession
Has the priest heard.
Mums the word.
He knows the flesh is weak
And will not speak
Of the desire
Burning in peasant and squire,
For discretion
Is his profession.
Every year, April 10th is known as Encourage a Young Writer Day. What a wonderful way to cultivate creativity. I decided to post this a couple days early to give people the chance to arrange something for the young writers they may know.
You can gift a young person a journal, some pens and a bookmark.
You can write a letter of support and send it to a young person to bolster their confidence.
You could host an afternoon of writing fun with a small group of young writers. Bringing them together for writing exercises and sharing of their works.
You could mentor a young person through a specific project such as poem, short story or even a book.
Whatever you choose to do, be sure to let the young writers in your life know that there are no limits as to where their writing can take them.
I was pleased to receive the below review of my forthcoming collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Please note, the reviewer received a free electronic copy of “My Old Clock I Wind” in exchange for an honest review. I am grateful to JC for taking the time to read and review my book.
—
“From the very first poem, My Old Clock I Wind, the subject of this volume of poetry is known… we can stop the hands of a clock but not the hands of time.
And if there were a soundtrack to this book of poetry, it would be George Harrison’s, All Things Must Pass.
Every time I review one of Kevin’s books I am struck by the way he can take a subject matter and make it sound fresh to each poem, not one poem ever feels
like it is just filler material, each can stand on its own.
Although the main theme is of time marching on to an unknown destination, death, and decay, we must question that destination and fully embrace it if we
want to start living life to the fullest. These themes are interwoven in poems about the seasons, ecology, social media, the modern world versus the past.
A few of my favorite are Count Dracula Went Out to Dine, Feather, Twenty Seventeen, and Graveyard.
A notable mention is Daffodils; one would think there has been enough poetry about this flower but Kevin manages to place it in a new refreshing situation.
In another poem, we are invited for an Evening Walk along with Kevin’s guide dog, Trigger to Hampton Court.
I think this is a handsome volume of poetry and would make a good companion on any day no matter the weather”.
(JC’s website – https://nimbus432.wordpress.com/).
A workman shouts to his mate.
An ordered state
With everything
Working as it should.
I enter the nearby wood
Where birds sing,
My dog and I revelling in the spring.
Idly I ponder
Whether the robot will come
And eclipse yonder
Workman’s sun.
On 4 April, I published a post entitled “Is there any benefit in studying creative writing?”, (https://newauthoronline.com/2017/04/04/is-there-any-benefit-in-studying-creative-writing/).
In that article I expressed scepticism as to whether studying creative writing can produce people who can, actually write poetry and prose. In my view creative writing courses may help to develop talent. They can not, however turn those who possess no talent for writing into people who can produce meaningful poetry or prose.
My previous post on this subject generated a very interesting debate which, at times got somewhat heated. The comments received caused me to carry out further research on the subject of creative writing. In the course of this research I came across the following article, in “The Guardian”, in which (the newspaper reports), creative writing Professor Hanif Kureishi questions the validity of creative writing. Unsurprisingly the article created considerable debate, both for and against the perspective attributed to Kureishi. Both the article (and the comments following on from it) are well worth reading. For the article please visit: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/mar/04/creative-writing-courses-waste-of-time-hanif-kureishi.
Many thanks to Annette Rochelle Aben for the below short story, which is copyright Annette Rochelle Aben.
—
I Loved You, Tom
So, like many a love affair, it really had no chance of happening. Oh, I noticed you, but the thought of TRYING to LIKE you was simply abhorrent! There was so much about you I couldn’t accept. You left a bad taste in my mouth and your natural scent, well let’s just say that I’d rather have smelled burnt popcorn. Yet my parents did everything from strongly suggesting to playing the “we know what’s best for you” card as though the guilt alone would get me to love you! They were, after all, completely befuddled that I was the only one in the family to NOT sing your praises. Over the years, I found I could take you in small quantities, and I began to find that I could enjoy you, given the right circumstances. Of course , I still had my issues getting to know the real you, the raw side of you, holding my ground for what seemed like forever, until something inside me shifted.
Can’t explain it, and I will never fully understand how, but one day I found myself out of my comfort zone and gave you an honest-to-goodness second chance. It was as though a whole new world opened for me. I was no longer that family member who rejected you, or tossed you aside. How could I have ever refused to enjoy myself when you were around? Eagerly, I began to include you in my daily life. People who had known me forever were confused. After all, I had been adamant about my feelings. Could it be possible that my tastes had changed? So many people told me this might happen.
This new-found appreciation, dare I say it, L-O-V-E, for you was bringing me great joy! As we are want to do with love, I felt the need to share my excitement. I even found a job where I could have you by my side more often. How proud I was to introduce you to others, putting you up on a pedestal. I was always meeting more people who had already known and loved you for most of their lives. Within the fold of their company, I felt proud and understood!
In the middle of this fun and frolic, something began to go terribly wrong. It wasn’t about the others. I knew I couldn’t keep you all to myself. You commanded world adulation, I accepted that as fact. This was me, not you and I lost sleep trying to come to grips with reality. It shook me to think that this might be the beginning of the end.
My body grew weak and it pained me to have you in my life. Those joy-filled times began to be followed by days of regret. There was something paining me and though I had an inkling, I was too proud to see the signs. It got to the point that I was advised by my doctor, to make a choice. Either pretend to be happy with you or live without you and be healthier! It was for my own good! Still, how could I walk away from that which had brought me such pleasure? To turn my back on the satisfaction, seemed impossible. I had become one of your most devoted fans. I loved you with all my heart!
Oh, the humanity!
I chose to give you up and I cut all ties. It wasn’t easy, for you were so much a part of my life. I cried for the loss, secretly hoping that I might soon waken from this bad dream. What if I did not feel better after this drastic change? Could we make a pact to find each other again? Then we’d slip away, go someplace where no one knew us, start over and live happily ever after!
Strange, but I began to feel better without you around. My body felt a resurgence of energy, my outlook brightened and I managed to find a zest for life. What a cruel joke! If what I felt was real love, how could I possibly be thriving with you gone? I finally had to admit that I couldn’t live on love alone. You were just no good for me and the truth was undeniable. We must have had something good at one time, but it wasn’t meant to last.
Yes, I have become stronger and you still have millions of others who adore you. We lost nothing and we will always have our memories. I see you from time to time. Quite knowingly, I smile but keep walking. See, I know that my life changed because of you, for the better. I no longer use my pet name for you, Tom. These days I refer to you more formally as Tomato!
http://www.annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/annetterochelleaben
There was a young man called Ron
Who wrote a poem about a swan.
He said to the bird,
“Have you my poem heard?”
But the swan had long since gone.
Compose a poem about the deep red rose,
And how it’s scent does perfume the soft evening air,
And I swear
Readers will raise
You up with praise.
Compose a verse about the rose
And the bee’s burning lust,
(Oh see how they are both but dust),
And I will eat my hat
If the poet does not receive a brickbat
Or the vilence
Of silence
Annette Rochelle Aben was first published while a sophomore in high school. She has since published nine books and has a story included in The Indies Unlimited 2014 Flash Fiction Anthology. Her latest book, A Haiku Perspective 2017, was released on March 30th of this year in celebration of National Poetry Month (April). She also is an editor of/ contributor to The Magic Happens Magazine and is a host on the blog talk radio show, The Magic Happens. Please join me in celebrating the publication of Annette’s 9th book!
Thank you, Tina, for this opportunity to share a bit of me with those who care to read this interview. As I have always thought I could hide behind my words, much like Cyrano De Bergerac, I now, nose better!
Most welcome, Annette. It’s…
View original post 1,046 more words
Let me be blunt (a thing foreign to my character)! I do not believe that one can learn to be a writer by studying creative writing or by participating in creative writing events. I must, in fairness caveat the forgoing statement by making it clear that I have no background in creative writing (I neither studied the subject nor have I taken part in creative writing groups so, on this basis some may decide to take my opinion with a very large pinch of salt).
So what is my objection to creative writing courses and/or creative writing groups? I have no beef with like-minded people who wish to meet together either online or in the real world to discuss writing and bounce ideas off one another. I am sure such discussions can be highly stimulating and I know of people who have greatly enjoyed participating in them. No doubt ideas spawned in creative writing discussions have led to the composition of great literature. However observing a country scene, a conversation with a friend and many other experiences can (and have) led to the production of great art (I.E. there is, in my view nothing uniquely special about the creative writing process (by which I mean that which occurs in academic institutions)that ought to cause us to accord it particular privilege.
I stand to be corrected but, to my knowledge very few (if any) of the literary greats studied creative writing. Dickens, Tolstoy, Shakespeare and Blake (to name but a few) certainly did not. They perfected their craft through hard slog, trial and error which is, in my experience how the vast majority of writers improve their writing craft.
There are, in this world a multiplicity of individuals and organisations who promise (usually, but not always for financial recompense) to make us more beautiful, richer or yes (you guessed it) great writers. Some of these people do, no doubt mean well and are convinced that they can teach the art of writing. Perhaps, in some instances they kindle within the budding writer that spark which leds on to the production of a literary masterpiece. Perhaps? perhaps Not?
In conclusion, one can not (in my view) learn to write by studying creative writing. One perfects the ability to write by hard slog and burning the midnight oil. Beware of snake oil salesmen who say “sign up to this course” “, “buy my book on creative writing” etc “and you will learn how to write. I welcome comments from anyone irrespective of your point of view. If you have gained from attending a creative writing course do please comment. Likewise, if your experience has been mixed or negative do, please also input.
K Morris - Poet 