Tag: poetry

Writing

What Is A Writer?

carolyncordon

Points to Consider

  • Poetry
  • Prose
  • Journalism
  • Fiction
  • Non Fiction
  • Article
  • Blogs
  • Public Speaking

All of the dot points above involve writing, and involve writers. Not every one of them necessarily is seen as making a person a writer, but it’s is definitely true that if you write in any of these forms, you could call yourself a writer.

Whether or not you and your words ever get published is irrelevant, if you write, you are a writer, that is what I believe. Of course for some the idea of sharing their work with many other people, and even earning money with your writing is the ultimate result, but that isn’t as easy as it may seem.

So are you a writer who wants to get your words ‘out there’ and even earn some money? Read on, below:

 

Get your words working for you!

If you live in or near a town or city, there are probably many venues where you can meet with other writers. Many hotels and libraries, for instance, sometimes hold ‘Poetry Readings’ where poets can attend an ‘Open Mic’ session, having the chance of 2 or 3 minutes to read their poetry to audience members.

Service groups are another possible option, for being a place where an audience may be interested in your writing, and maybe but your books if you have them available.

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For the poetry options, the audience are often to also there read their own work out, so they are likely to already be interested in poetry. If you attend these kinds of events, and become known to other poets, there may be the chance of finding other events and other possibilities.

If you send your poetry to online or other magazines, you may gain publication and if you have enough of your poems published, or available online, you may have a higher chance of having a poetry collection published. If you want to cut some corners, and have some spare cash, you could self-publish a collection yourself, and possible sell some copies to heal to cover your costs, and maybe even make a profit!

The more you are seen, ‘out there’ with your poetry, the more likely it is that someone may ask you to present your words to an audience. If you write a lot of poetry about flowers and plants, for instance, perhaps a gardening group might like to have you speak to their club members.

‘Gigs’ like this may not be paid opportunities (although they may be, sometimes), but they can be a great chance to sell copies of your poetry collection, or whatever genre it is that you write. The same applies if your genre is something other than poetry, readings from collected short stories, or blog posts collected together, or articles, all these are possible avenues for a writer.

 

Bottom Line

So what is a writer? A writer is a person who writes. The world has many, many readers, as well many places looking for entertainment options. A writer can fashion themselves and their words as possible entertainment options, in a variety of ways. Comedy, for instance is an option. If you have a funny bone, and a good sense of timing, you may be able to become a stand up comic, or perhaps you could find somewhere you could sell your jokes – country newspapers are a possible place to accept such writing.

If you keep an open mind, and keep your options alive, who knows what and where your words may end up!

If you are a writer, the whole world is out there for you!

Writing

Watching the Screens

carolyncordon

On my television screen are couples dancing on ice, zooming effortlessly, creatively on their ice skates, swirling around, waving arms in unison, throw, catch, zoom, zoom! Beautiful, and so elegant!

On the screen of my laptop though, there is nothing as creative and beautiful happening. Nothing creative at all, really. I have been zipping from Facebook to Twitter, and back to Facebook, then back to Twitter, leaving a caring comment here or there with my friends on Facebook, and cutting, even scathing, comments on Twitter. I know people, real people, see my words, because they comment on them, or give a heart or thumbs up, or tweet them, as they feel appropriate.

But, given the fact that I call myself a writer, poet, etc, where are the signs of my own elegant proofs of my talents? Nowhere to be seen. I have two novels I could be working on, and a poetry chapbook I’d like to have published, as well as the beginnings of a longer poetry collection, a better one than the one I most recently submitted to a publisher, that was quite rightly rejected … I can and will do much better than that effort!

But at the moment, I’m flaffing about, doing nothing that could be called creative, and really, it may not even be of interest to any other person – (except for that word back there, “flaffing” don’t you love it!?) My screen is indicating it isn’t an actual real word, judging by the squiggly red line underneath the word. That’s fine though, I am going to use “flaffing” because it beautifully describes the languid and useless way I’ve been wandering around today, and wondering about things too.

My poetry, my novels, oh and that non fiction book I’ve begun too, will they ever come to life as published books? Well, no, not if I don’t manage to go from wondering, to actually writing, there is no way that can happen. Writers have to actually write, if they wish to be published.

Thinking about the two screens I’ve been looking at today, the action on the TV screen was far more interesting than the action happening on the sofa, where I am currently sitting, writing this blog post … The only action happening here is when my dog Missy, lying on her own sofa, moves her ear, in response to a sound; or me, when I get up to make coffee, and then reach over to take another mouthful of coffee.

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I’m hoping this third cup of the day may finally make something creative happen in my head,  but in reality, I suppose I’d be better off if I opened one of my creative writing files and just started writing more of that novel, or the other, or one of my poetry things, or the non fiction one.

Filming me writing wouldn’t even be as interesting as watching grass grow, because at least outside, there would be birds flying around and doing the things birds do all day. Getting food, nesting, flying, flying, and flying. If the growing grass got too boring, you could point the video camera at the birds, for sure. Sparrows, starlings, maybe crows, honeyeaters of a couple of different kinds, it’s all happening outside, as well, of course, as the grass which grows, and grows.

The skating has finished now, there seems to have been a bit of uproar regarding a low score one of the couples received, I’m not sure, I was only watching the zooming skaters in passing, not intently or anything like that. All I know about ice skating anyway, is how it feels when you crash to the ground, which happened to me when I was a lot younger than I am now. I bruise too much to ever want to be a skater. And I don’t like being cold either.

Anyway, enough of this wandering and wondering, I am going to actually look at one of my writing-related projects, and see if I can add anything useful to any of them. Seeya later!

 

poetry

When Poem and Life Collide …

carolyncordon

I suspect things are happening inside my brain, that I am not aware of, until some time after they have happened. And one of the things happening, is when life and poem crash, Bang! into each other, and it becomes difficult to decide whether life is dictated to by the poem, or whether the poem is the thing in charge, and life follows as meekly as a lamb.

I am doing the #poemadayfeb thing that other poets around the place are also doing. This involves writing a new poem every day in February, and sharing/posting/whatever your poem, with others. I am putting my poem up here on this blog every day, on the day if possible or the next day, if it’s possible then. I’ve only missed one day so far, and posted the poem the next day.

Those following along on the #poemadayfeb adventure use poem prompts given. Today’s prompt was a poetic form, in which to write a poem, rather than a ‘thing’ to write a poem about. I’d never written a poem in this form previously, so I was very happy to give it a try, and even more pleased by how much I enjoyed writing today’s poem.

So today’s poem is a bit late, but I am definitely going to post it here on this website/blog, and here it is:

 

Lazy Day, With Rain …

 

Outside, the rain is pelting down

but I’m comfortable in here,

sitting at the kitchen table

with my plans for the day all set.

 

Feeling disinclined to move, when

outside the rain is pelting down …

and now the thought of coffee, comes,

so though rain’s now stopped, I’m still here.

 

But as I mentioned, I have plans

I have to meet, whether or not

outside the rain is pelting down,

so, coffee, then get on with it.

 

My plans though, they weren’t written down;

I wonder will it matter, if

I just remain here inside though

outside, no rain is pelting down …

poetry

Today’s Poem Has Arrived!

carolyncordon

I’ve had to have my evening meal, and watch our favourite TV medical drama, but finally, the poem for this, the 8th of February is here. I’ve done a little bit more editing (a tiny bit), and now the poem is ready. The TV program was a taped one, and it’s one we always watch together, my husband and I. That point is an important one, in the terms of this particular poem I wrote for #poemadayfeb.

When you read the  poem, you should be able to see the truth of what I just said …

So here it is, the Poem for the 8th of February:

 

Prompt of “Body

My body is mine, not anyone else’s,

shared only with my permission.

It’s travelled with me, all my life,

a little damage in transmission.

 

We’ve been around, my body & I,

but our travelling days are over;

Thirty-plus years of married life –

husband & I, rolling in clover!

 

We share our lives, & our thoughts,

& some of the things we do,

not always though, not all the time,    

& that, I think, is the clue.

 

Time to just be by yourself

or with your friends, not his,

I suspect is why we never fight –

a pair, but each with our own biz.

 

He plays bowls, I’m a poet

He’s in the Lions, I’ve a writing group,

but every night we sleep together,

& really, I think that’s the scoop.

 

Sharing the bed, sharing our lives,

liking some things the same, not all –

together but not always, that’s the go

apart, yes, but differences are small …

poetry, writing exercise

Covering Same Issues

carolyncordon

With these writing prompts, that I write on every new day, I don’t know at the the start which direction my muse may take me. But the direction I headed straight away today, was to a place I’ve been before. Thoughts on ‘Hidden’ things have been a huge theme for my creative writing, and have brought good results, of various types, financial, therapeutic, and for the broader community too.

I have written more about the kind of thing I write about in today’s poem, on another of my blog, this one. I created that blog to help with promoting my poetry collection of the same name.

I don’t think I need to go to much further here now though, the poem I wrote for today, which is Day 6 of #poemadayfeb, will tell the story. I have been very much enjoying being involved with this daily poetry writing idea, & I hope I definitely stick with it to the rest of February, and perhaps beyond, using writing prompts from somewhere else. I have a box of writing prompts hidden away somewhere, and I have plenty of time to find them …

 

So here it is, my poem for this sixth day of February:

 

Finally Healing

 

It hurt so much, you kept it hidden,

your shame at what you’d done,

& knowing doing that was wrong.

 

But talk of ‘love’, was always there –

on radio, tv, movies, ever present,

& ‘love’ was what he’d  claimed …

 

But love in childhood isn’t that,

love for a child is pure & sweet,

what he did to you, wasn’t pure.

 

You held your story close inside,

until clarity & truth arrived at last –

with realisation fault wasn’t yours.

 

The adult, he was to blame for this,

you didn’t do it, it was done to you –

a child – the fault, all of it, was his.

 

He died alone, his crime unknown

except by other victims, perhaps.

& you’re all alive, your secrets told

 

& in telling, finding needed peace,

forgiving yourself, confident now

to tell your truth, & in telling, heal