At what point do you become a writer? Is it when you first put pencil to paper or hands to keys and write a story? Or does your writing have to be published somewhere that people, and especially your friends and family, can tangibly see and touch it? Or is it when you start getting paid for the words you write? It’s something every writer ponders, and it’s been written about by nearly all of them. Continue reading
My first Press, and I absolutely adore what she’s got to say. I’ve started telling people I’m a writer, but instead of a declaration, it still feels like a confession or admission. I kept thinking I’d put some backbone behind it once I had that first novel under my belt–and it is actually being written and no longer just thought about, which is a HUGE STEP–but the backbone should come first. Why the hell not?!
I couldn’t help but think of the frozen pizza commercials from a few years back when I just wrote that. And now I’m looking at the word Snicker and thinking about chocolate… Is it me, or are you getting hungry too?
So, I digress. And it isn’t because thinking or talking about death makes me uncomfortable. Not at all. After all, it’s not like we go through life not knowing the eventual end game. Continue reading
Beautifully written and moving. We’ve either been there or we likely will be.
Tonight’s poem “The Arms of Mater” by Tracey Curzon-Manners resonates in part because its depth sneaks up on you. Enjoy this prose-poem.
The Arms of Mater
I kneel before you and we both laugh in the struggle that ensues as minutes are spent forcing fresh socks onto stiff, twisted feet only for them to be soaked again in the effort required to stand.
Your face says it all.
It’s not your fault.
Sit down, we’ll try again.
The underwear’s a challenge but with one deft move and a little co-operation — your arms do seem to have a mind of their own (at least some part of you does) — a little manipulation and snap!
We’re in business.
I just need a minute…
Now then, what about these trousers?
I hold them up and contemplate the next crucial move.
Climbing the north face would be easier.
Let’s take it one leg…
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