(Or the meaning of the top ten responses from editors and publishers)
By Bill Kirk
Dedicated to all writers everywhere--especially the new kids on the block--who are awaiting responses from the many submissions you have mailed out. Sometimes the anticipation is as good as it gets. But every once in a while, you might get lucky.... It could happen.
(NOTE: The order may vary depending on the size of the envelope, weight of the manuscript and the diameter of the coffee stain on the outside.)
#1: No response from the publisher….
The editor must be still thinking about it. So it's been a year---some people are thorough.
# 2: Your original outgoing envelope, returned unopened-manuscript still inside, with no notes, no form letter or any other indication that anyone or anything besides a Pitney-Bowes mail sorter has touched it....
I wonder what that little pointy finger next to the "Return To Sender" stamp means?
#3: A returned SASE with nothing inside….
Must have liked it so much they made copies and are still passing them around the office!
#4: An SASE with a pre-printed, unsigned and unmarked form letter....
Ya gotta love the extra effort and attention! Besides, someone had to write the form letter, didn't they? So, I coulda been the first one they sent it to, right?
#5: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter with one box checked.... Wait. All SIX rejection boxes are checked! Woo! Hoo!
Now we're talking! I can feel the love---every box is individually hand checked! Someone actually read me!
#6: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter and an encouraging rejection note-like, "I read this twice before throwing it away." or "Next time, don't waste your postage on a SASE"….
OMG, a perk! They're going to pay the return postage on my SASE next time. Quick! Send them something else---preferably before the postman drives away!
#7: A returned SASE with a marked up manuscript---in color crayon---and three Cheerios inside....
OK. So, the editor could have her 3-year old child on the payroll. Besides, some kids are prodigies.
#8: A returned SASE with the manuscript inside, marked up with legible comments like, "This is truly beyond belief! In my 25 years as an editor, I've never seen anything quite like it...."
Be still, my heart! Finally, someone who really understands how unique and creative I am.
#9: A returned SASE with a form letter and a signed hand-written note asking to see more….
YES!!! Hey, honey, where did you put the car ads? We gotta Jaguar in our future....
And the #10 response: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter and an anticipated date of publication... sometime within the next ten years....
Finally! I'm adding this puppy under my name at the bottom of my email messages!
HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL….
Showing posts with label the writer's life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the writer's life. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Poem A Day For April 3 and April 4
Time got away from me before I could enter my poetic post from yesterday. But it was a good day, nonetheless, spent with our grandson's drumline at their final gathering of the season---the annual picnic. Those times don't come often and are their own reward. So, today's post includes the poems from both yesterday and today. And as it turns out, both seem quite a propos.
April 3: Our challenge for today was to "take the phrase "Partly (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then write the poem."
Partly Written
By Bill Kirk
Some days the best we can hope for as writers
Is work partly written.
Try as we might, the words don’t seem to flow.
Maybe the muse has left us
In search of more fertile fields.
Maybe the intrusion of life gets in the way.
Or are some days simply more or less creative?
Yet on those days, is it not better to make the attempt
Than let the time we would spend writing,
Silently slip away unused?
Too bad if that happens.
So, write on, even if the work ends up
Only partly written.
April 4: "... write a history poem. This could mean a poem about your country's history, the history of an event or a tool, or even your own personal history."
On Making History
By Bill Kirk
With each passing day,
In our own way,
We make history.
Each of us carves out some small or large
Piece of meaning in time and space.
What did you do today to mark you place?
Did you simply wake up for breakfast
And wait for bedtime?
Or did you experience
A different kind of awakening---
Learning or contributing
Some certain thing or idea
To give meaning to life,
Your own or others?
With each passing day,
How well will you choose
To use it?
For the day’s relative length grows shorter—
A day in the life of a five year old
Seems much longer than my days
Three generations hence.
Why is that?
Perhaps it is the proportional share
An apparently shrinking
Twenty-four hour clock takes out
Of the increasing span of one’s life.
Until its end, that is.
And then we will no longer make history
In the doing of things;
But only in the affect
We may have had on others,
Through what we have done or left undone.
Either way,
With each passing day,
We make history….
April 3: Our challenge for today was to "take the phrase "Partly (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then write the poem."
Partly Written
By Bill Kirk
Some days the best we can hope for as writers
Is work partly written.
Try as we might, the words don’t seem to flow.
Maybe the muse has left us
In search of more fertile fields.
Maybe the intrusion of life gets in the way.
Or are some days simply more or less creative?
Yet on those days, is it not better to make the attempt
Than let the time we would spend writing,
Silently slip away unused?
Too bad if that happens.
So, write on, even if the work ends up
Only partly written.
April 4: "... write a history poem. This could mean a poem about your country's history, the history of an event or a tool, or even your own personal history."
On Making History
By Bill Kirk
With each passing day,
In our own way,
We make history.
Each of us carves out some small or large
Piece of meaning in time and space.
What did you do today to mark you place?
Did you simply wake up for breakfast
And wait for bedtime?
Or did you experience
A different kind of awakening---
Learning or contributing
Some certain thing or idea
To give meaning to life,
Your own or others?
With each passing day,
How well will you choose
To use it?
For the day’s relative length grows shorter—
A day in the life of a five year old
Seems much longer than my days
Three generations hence.
Why is that?
Perhaps it is the proportional share
An apparently shrinking
Twenty-four hour clock takes out
Of the increasing span of one’s life.
Until its end, that is.
And then we will no longer make history
In the doing of things;
But only in the affect
We may have had on others,
Through what we have done or left undone.
Either way,
With each passing day,
We make history….
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Vagaries Of The Blogosphere---Celebrating The "Grateful Read"
To all writers out there in the midst of promotional struggle, I feel your sense of frustration and wondering---wondering sometimes if we are individually and perhaps even collectively in the bottom of a deep well, seeing the small circle of light high above us come and go, making noise hoping someone will notice and pull us out or maybe toss in a coin.
What a rich topic for commentary. So, here's my two cents in a somewhat stream of consciousness fashion. I'd love to get your individual or collective take on the matter. By the way, I've also updated, simplified and tightened up my website at http://www.billkirkwrites.com recently and am always interested in drop-ins. No appointment necessary.
We all have blogs and websites, e-mail address books, social/professional/academic networks, school/library contact lists and are members in writing groups, critique groups, oh, and extended families. We write our blogs on all things 'writing' and update our websites to keep them current regarding our publications and 'fresh' so the web crawlers will excitedly buz about something new they have found.
But, let's be honest. Who really stops by to visit our roadside lemonade stands, to linger for a moment or, even better, to mention how tasty our nickel-sized offering is? Who out there in the universe has the time or interest or even awareness that we are "here"? Are we the cyberspace equivalent of a small-town five-and-dime on a formerly busy road through town, now struggling 20 miles south of the politically placed Interstate Highway?
To be sure, our announcements are made to those in the aforementioned communities so they know something new is afoot in our little corner of the literary world. We bait our promotional hooks, hoping for a nibble or a catch. But, mixing my metaphors, are we preaching to the choir or at most to those in each of our relatively small congregations?
Interestingly, one of my favorit visitors---OK, she's my little sister---saw my blog post on Facebook and wrote, "What?". Yes, my entry was a bit obtuse even for a family member who knows me well. Then one of my few "followers"---a former critique group moderator---stopped by and noted, also on Facebook, that she very much understood my feelings to the extent that she has pretty much given up on her blog because no one was reading it. Sad commentary indeed but so true.
Of course neither of those replies from my loyal fans are posted on my blog site. So, listen up Facebook. Perhaps there might be a way to link any comments people make on the blog posts that are re-posted on Facebook, Jacketflap, etc., back to our blogs just so the comments actually appear there. At least it might create the illusion that our blogs actually have an audience. Did I say that?
This is an interesting business, isn't it? But to the question, "Why do we do it?" the answer has got to be that we feel called to do it, we love the work and we can't see ourselves not doing it. So, I will continue to leave my little written deposits, like geo-caches in the wilderness, hoping that someone will find my cache and leave a note behind---and, as rarely as it occurs, I'll be very encouraged when they do. Let's just call it "cache-ing in"....
What a rich topic for commentary. So, here's my two cents in a somewhat stream of consciousness fashion. I'd love to get your individual or collective take on the matter. By the way, I've also updated, simplified and tightened up my website at http://www.billkirkwrites.com recently and am always interested in drop-ins. No appointment necessary.
We all have blogs and websites, e-mail address books, social/professional/academic networks, school/library contact lists and are members in writing groups, critique groups, oh, and extended families. We write our blogs on all things 'writing' and update our websites to keep them current regarding our publications and 'fresh' so the web crawlers will excitedly buz about something new they have found.
But, let's be honest. Who really stops by to visit our roadside lemonade stands, to linger for a moment or, even better, to mention how tasty our nickel-sized offering is? Who out there in the universe has the time or interest or even awareness that we are "here"? Are we the cyberspace equivalent of a small-town five-and-dime on a formerly busy road through town, now struggling 20 miles south of the politically placed Interstate Highway?
To be sure, our announcements are made to those in the aforementioned communities so they know something new is afoot in our little corner of the literary world. We bait our promotional hooks, hoping for a nibble or a catch. But, mixing my metaphors, are we preaching to the choir or at most to those in each of our relatively small congregations?
Interestingly, one of my favorit visitors---OK, she's my little sister---saw my blog post on Facebook and wrote, "What?". Yes, my entry was a bit obtuse even for a family member who knows me well. Then one of my few "followers"---a former critique group moderator---stopped by and noted, also on Facebook, that she very much understood my feelings to the extent that she has pretty much given up on her blog because no one was reading it. Sad commentary indeed but so true.
Of course neither of those replies from my loyal fans are posted on my blog site. So, listen up Facebook. Perhaps there might be a way to link any comments people make on the blog posts that are re-posted on Facebook, Jacketflap, etc., back to our blogs just so the comments actually appear there. At least it might create the illusion that our blogs actually have an audience. Did I say that?
This is an interesting business, isn't it? But to the question, "Why do we do it?" the answer has got to be that we feel called to do it, we love the work and we can't see ourselves not doing it. So, I will continue to leave my little written deposits, like geo-caches in the wilderness, hoping that someone will find my cache and leave a note behind---and, as rarely as it occurs, I'll be very encouraged when they do. Let's just call it "cache-ing in"....
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas Tree Hunting—Not For the Faint Of Heart
For men, Christmas tree shopping has got to be at the top of the list of life’s all-time stress producers—right up there with purchasing a new mattress, remodeling the kitchen or babysitting six-month old triplets… alone… on Black Friday.
Tree acquisition is usually irreversibly triggered by “someone” remembering the holidays. That is, once your wife decides it’s time to get the tree, any chance for escape is lost. So, it’s best to get on board early by showing your beloved that you already have a trip to the tree lot in your Planner, immediately after Thanksgiving.
Yes, you could volunteer to get a tree earlier, although that would likely be viewed as sucking up. Pushing the date out a bit might work—let’s say until the Thanksgiving left-overs are gone. But I would eat fast.
Let’s assume for a moment that you make the right timing decision. On the day of the big purchase you will be richly rewarded if you take someone with you to share the experience. Trust me, tree selection is a decision you do not want to make alone. If no other option is available, call in a marker and take another male with you to help deflect the blame when you totally screw things up. Your buying guide should be someone highly regarded by your wife—-you know, like Josh Groban, Bon Jovi or the Iron Chef.
In the event you don’t know someone rich and famous who can cook or sing, take children—preferably related to you. And remember to lavish praise on them when they make their selection. You’ll want them beaming when your wife first sees them marching through the front door, proudly toting their Charlie Brown tree.
It goes without saying, the gold standard is convincing your wife to come with you. Surely, if you put your heart into the invitation, she will willingly leave the warmth of hearth and home for a trip to the cold, poorly lit and newly sprouted urban forest—AKA Jack’s Tree Lot.
Once there, she will no doubt relish hearing your carefully studied views of height versus girth, spruce versus pine, relative trunk curvature, growth patterns, limb distribution and, of course, moisture content. By next summer you’ll both remember this as a bonding experience.
With any luck, you’ll be in and out of the lot in less than ten minutes after picking the first tree you come to. Hey! It could happen. However, as a precaution, it might be prudent to bring along a thermos and some snacks. Better yet, if you have room in your trunk, consider tossing in a stocked cooler and a portable grill—you could be there for a while.
Merry Christmas, everyone. Drop by my web site any time for updates on my children's books or just to browse around ( http://www.billkirkwrites.com ).
Tree acquisition is usually irreversibly triggered by “someone” remembering the holidays. That is, once your wife decides it’s time to get the tree, any chance for escape is lost. So, it’s best to get on board early by showing your beloved that you already have a trip to the tree lot in your Planner, immediately after Thanksgiving.
Yes, you could volunteer to get a tree earlier, although that would likely be viewed as sucking up. Pushing the date out a bit might work—let’s say until the Thanksgiving left-overs are gone. But I would eat fast.
Let’s assume for a moment that you make the right timing decision. On the day of the big purchase you will be richly rewarded if you take someone with you to share the experience. Trust me, tree selection is a decision you do not want to make alone. If no other option is available, call in a marker and take another male with you to help deflect the blame when you totally screw things up. Your buying guide should be someone highly regarded by your wife—-you know, like Josh Groban, Bon Jovi or the Iron Chef.
In the event you don’t know someone rich and famous who can cook or sing, take children—preferably related to you. And remember to lavish praise on them when they make their selection. You’ll want them beaming when your wife first sees them marching through the front door, proudly toting their Charlie Brown tree.
It goes without saying, the gold standard is convincing your wife to come with you. Surely, if you put your heart into the invitation, she will willingly leave the warmth of hearth and home for a trip to the cold, poorly lit and newly sprouted urban forest—AKA Jack’s Tree Lot.
Once there, she will no doubt relish hearing your carefully studied views of height versus girth, spruce versus pine, relative trunk curvature, growth patterns, limb distribution and, of course, moisture content. By next summer you’ll both remember this as a bonding experience.
With any luck, you’ll be in and out of the lot in less than ten minutes after picking the first tree you come to. Hey! It could happen. However, as a precaution, it might be prudent to bring along a thermos and some snacks. Better yet, if you have room in your trunk, consider tossing in a stocked cooler and a portable grill—you could be there for a while.
Merry Christmas, everyone. Drop by my web site any time for updates on my children's books or just to browse around ( http://www.billkirkwrites.com ).
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"Thanksgiving Dad"
Some days my writer's vision is totally different than my reality. Today is one of those days. Here is where I would be in my mind's eye:
Sitting at a small desk nestled amidst stacks of books in a cavernous, be-shaddowed library with shelves all around. A small light illuminates my immediate surroundings as I sit, spectacles perched on the end of my nose. Teasing out just the right words, I slowly add to the aging manuscript taking form on the pages before me. I could sit in that spot for hours in my reverie. But alas, the hours are fleeting.
In the meantime, check out the Rhyme of the Month on my website ( http://www.billkirkwrites.com )---a little something for Thanksgiving, written in the spirit of Bob Newhart. Enjoy.
Sitting at a small desk nestled amidst stacks of books in a cavernous, be-shaddowed library with shelves all around. A small light illuminates my immediate surroundings as I sit, spectacles perched on the end of my nose. Teasing out just the right words, I slowly add to the aging manuscript taking form on the pages before me. I could sit in that spot for hours in my reverie. But alas, the hours are fleeting.
In the meantime, check out the Rhyme of the Month on my website ( http://www.billkirkwrites.com )---a little something for Thanksgiving, written in the spirit of Bob Newhart. Enjoy.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Bend-ward Bound
Hi, folks STOP
Just a short note on my way out the door, bound for Bend, Oregon STOP
A group of artists and authors who are published by Guardian Angel Publishing is gathering in Bend (and Redmond, OR) for a GAP-West "Meet and Greet" plus a group book signing at a Barnes and Noble store in Bend on Saturday, September 19 STOP
Looking forward to seeing everyone and reading to the kids STOP
More news to follow STOP
Kirk out
STOP
Just a short note on my way out the door, bound for Bend, Oregon STOP
A group of artists and authors who are published by Guardian Angel Publishing is gathering in Bend (and Redmond, OR) for a GAP-West "Meet and Greet" plus a group book signing at a Barnes and Noble store in Bend on Saturday, September 19 STOP
Looking forward to seeing everyone and reading to the kids STOP
More news to follow STOP
Kirk out
STOP
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Whatever Happened To "Writer's Cramp"? Will It Soon Be Replaced By TD
You don't hear about "writer's cramp' much these days. Sure there is plenty of "carpal tunnel" to go around. But writer's cramp almost seems to be a thing of the past.
I remember as a kid hearing the phrase "writer's cramp" all the time. And I recall experiencing such an affliction often enough myself, especially when a lengthy writing assignment was due. With the advent of typewriters and keyboards, one rarely hears of writer's cramp anymore. We've moved from what was typically a short-lived pain in the inter-digital muscles that could be relieved by simply putting the pen down, to structural syndromes that linger long after the writing has stopped.
Fortunately, I don't yet suffer from carpal tunnel issues. However, rather oddly I have noticed a consistent inability to write using pen and paper for more than just a few minutes at a stretch these days---mostly, I think, from being out of practice. After all, how much actual writing do we do anymore?
My planner entries (yes, I still use a planner with real paper inside) are usually one-liners and they are short one-liners at that. Occasionally, I jot down a reminder to myself or maybe even leave a note on the counter so my wife knows where I've gone and what time I'll be home. But for the most part, I don't do much longhand writing anymore and my penmanship has suffered as a result.
I think it's a matter of exercise---or lack thereof. The hand and finger muscles are literally out of writing shape. I used to write journal entries daily and all my letters were written longhand. Even first drafts of lengthy papers and reports started with a hand-written rough draft. Now, short notes are about a much as I actually write.
But maybe "writer's cramp" lives after all and is just waiting to be rediscovered. All it takes is writing a couple pages longhand and there it is as if it had never left....
In a related language artifact, we call ourselves writers when, in fact, we generally don't do much actual writing anymore. And I don't know that there is a good replacement word or phrase---perhaps creative typers or creative keyers (as type-writers are vitually a thing of the past). Then again, maybe "author" is the best word after all because it covers a multitude of tools an author might use....
Just remember, the tool does not an author make. It's the product, however crafted.
P.S. Don't you wonder how soon it will be before we will see the first novel "written" in .txt.... Personally, I plan to avoid too much texting---I hear textual dysfunction is a bugger to get rid of....
I remember as a kid hearing the phrase "writer's cramp" all the time. And I recall experiencing such an affliction often enough myself, especially when a lengthy writing assignment was due. With the advent of typewriters and keyboards, one rarely hears of writer's cramp anymore. We've moved from what was typically a short-lived pain in the inter-digital muscles that could be relieved by simply putting the pen down, to structural syndromes that linger long after the writing has stopped.
Fortunately, I don't yet suffer from carpal tunnel issues. However, rather oddly I have noticed a consistent inability to write using pen and paper for more than just a few minutes at a stretch these days---mostly, I think, from being out of practice. After all, how much actual writing do we do anymore?
My planner entries (yes, I still use a planner with real paper inside) are usually one-liners and they are short one-liners at that. Occasionally, I jot down a reminder to myself or maybe even leave a note on the counter so my wife knows where I've gone and what time I'll be home. But for the most part, I don't do much longhand writing anymore and my penmanship has suffered as a result.
I think it's a matter of exercise---or lack thereof. The hand and finger muscles are literally out of writing shape. I used to write journal entries daily and all my letters were written longhand. Even first drafts of lengthy papers and reports started with a hand-written rough draft. Now, short notes are about a much as I actually write.
But maybe "writer's cramp" lives after all and is just waiting to be rediscovered. All it takes is writing a couple pages longhand and there it is as if it had never left....
In a related language artifact, we call ourselves writers when, in fact, we generally don't do much actual writing anymore. And I don't know that there is a good replacement word or phrase---perhaps creative typers or creative keyers (as type-writers are vitually a thing of the past). Then again, maybe "author" is the best word after all because it covers a multitude of tools an author might use....
Just remember, the tool does not an author make. It's the product, however crafted.
P.S. Don't you wonder how soon it will be before we will see the first novel "written" in .txt.... Personally, I plan to avoid too much texting---I hear textual dysfunction is a bugger to get rid of....
Monday, July 13, 2009
Happiness Is A Book Cover
In the midst of being buried in the administrivia of book promotion, sometimes it's easy to forget how we got here in the first place---what it felt like to see the very first cover for that book that took years to finish, submit, revise, finish again and again and again and finally get accepted. So, for today, I'm remembering that moment and a few others like it when other book covers popped out or poems and articles got published or a manuscript finished second in a small writing contest.
In a way, I suppose it's a little like being in a runner's slump and getting an unexpected and very welcom burst of encouragement. It could come from a short but really good run or even from just seeing photos of an ultra-marathon that you have long had on your bucket list but have temporarily lost the vision....
So, here's to those moments and the memories of them that keep us putting one foot in front of the other or tapping at the keyboard or scribbling on small notepads in the dark at 3:00 a.m. when a fresh and very perishable idea pops into our drowsy semi-consciousness.
Some days a little boost is all it takes.
In a way, I suppose it's a little like being in a runner's slump and getting an unexpected and very welcom burst of encouragement. It could come from a short but really good run or even from just seeing photos of an ultra-marathon that you have long had on your bucket list but have temporarily lost the vision....
So, here's to those moments and the memories of them that keep us putting one foot in front of the other or tapping at the keyboard or scribbling on small notepads in the dark at 3:00 a.m. when a fresh and very perishable idea pops into our drowsy semi-consciousness.
Some days a little boost is all it takes.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Busy, Busy, Busy....
I suppose there's got to be just the right balance between pathos and vanity---needing to be not just seen but recognized without having to make a scene just to be recognized.
Are writers any different? Especially in the early stages, how many times are we told to get a website up and running, start a blog (or two or three), hook up with as many social networs as possible, all to get name (nay, brand) recognition started. And then wait.... For supposedly nothing much happens for at least the first year---I mean besides the one or two or five daily visits to your website or blog. Getting more visits that? You may be on the verge of superstardom!
One year is supposedly the minimum necessary elapsed time for cyber maturation. Somehow, after about a year, the web crawlers have apparently crept over, under, around and through your cyber identity enough times to for your site to reach some measure of critical mass for the number of visits and visit frequency to start to pick up. At least that's the theory.
But while you are waiting, don't forget to update your website with interesting tidbits and keep your blog(s) current. And, whatever you do, the remember the three "Ss": socialize, socialize, socialize. Just think of all the blogs there are to read and comment on, networking pages to visit, connections to establish, mailing lists to build, quizzes to take, photos to send and causes to join.
Depending on what "generation" we may find outselves in (I'm talking cyber generations here), you may be doing all these things with technology that runs the gammut from a plain old ordinary computer with regular old ordinary Internet access, all the way to the fastest, most compact, app-intensive and interconnected hand held device on the market. Of course, the more technologically current one is, the more there is to do. Why, it's enough to leave one breathless from the doing or even just the thinking about it....
Now where is that story I was planning to work on today, anyway? Guess it may have to wait until tomorrow after all. Time for my weekly podcast....
Are writers any different? Especially in the early stages, how many times are we told to get a website up and running, start a blog (or two or three), hook up with as many social networs as possible, all to get name (nay, brand) recognition started. And then wait.... For supposedly nothing much happens for at least the first year---I mean besides the one or two or five daily visits to your website or blog. Getting more visits that? You may be on the verge of superstardom!
One year is supposedly the minimum necessary elapsed time for cyber maturation. Somehow, after about a year, the web crawlers have apparently crept over, under, around and through your cyber identity enough times to for your site to reach some measure of critical mass for the number of visits and visit frequency to start to pick up. At least that's the theory.
But while you are waiting, don't forget to update your website with interesting tidbits and keep your blog(s) current. And, whatever you do, the remember the three "Ss": socialize, socialize, socialize. Just think of all the blogs there are to read and comment on, networking pages to visit, connections to establish, mailing lists to build, quizzes to take, photos to send and causes to join.
Depending on what "generation" we may find outselves in (I'm talking cyber generations here), you may be doing all these things with technology that runs the gammut from a plain old ordinary computer with regular old ordinary Internet access, all the way to the fastest, most compact, app-intensive and interconnected hand held device on the market. Of course, the more technologically current one is, the more there is to do. Why, it's enough to leave one breathless from the doing or even just the thinking about it....
Now where is that story I was planning to work on today, anyway? Guess it may have to wait until tomorrow after all. Time for my weekly podcast....
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Here's To Memory Joggers, Whatever They May Be?
Times Not Forgotten
By Bill Kirk
It’s not that I remember everything, mind you.
But I’m often asked to recall things
Others have long forgotten.
Why is that, I wonder?
Is it a birth order thing?
Do first born siblings just happen
To get all the memories?
Somehow, I doubt it.
There have been a few things
I don’t seem to be able to recall.
But most of the time I’ve found
It’s not so much my not remembering.
Instead, it’s that I may not remember things
From another’s perspective.
Was the dress silk or chenille,
Above the knee or just below,
One bare shoulder or two?
Such details may matter to some
But to me it was just sexy and black
And, boy, could that dress move!
Alas, perhaps good memory is an affliction,
Like knowing too much for my own good
Or remembering things that shouldn’t be repeated—
At least not in polite company.
Perhaps I should conveniently “forget”
A few more things.
Reaching back, I suppose there are some things
I simply can’t remember, at least not consciously.
My mother swears I was speaking German
As well as English at age two,
With our German housekeeper
As my first linguistics tutor.
But to tell the truth, I can’t remember
That far back in either language.
So, I rely on others to tell the stories,
Each time perhaps a bit differently
Than the time before.
And, then, those stories themselves
Become part of the memories
That I just can’t seem to forget.
By Bill Kirk
It’s not that I remember everything, mind you.
But I’m often asked to recall things
Others have long forgotten.
Why is that, I wonder?
Is it a birth order thing?
Do first born siblings just happen
To get all the memories?
Somehow, I doubt it.
There have been a few things
I don’t seem to be able to recall.
But most of the time I’ve found
It’s not so much my not remembering.
Instead, it’s that I may not remember things
From another’s perspective.
Was the dress silk or chenille,
Above the knee or just below,
One bare shoulder or two?
Such details may matter to some
But to me it was just sexy and black
And, boy, could that dress move!
Alas, perhaps good memory is an affliction,
Like knowing too much for my own good
Or remembering things that shouldn’t be repeated—
At least not in polite company.
Perhaps I should conveniently “forget”
A few more things.
Reaching back, I suppose there are some things
I simply can’t remember, at least not consciously.
My mother swears I was speaking German
As well as English at age two,
With our German housekeeper
As my first linguistics tutor.
But to tell the truth, I can’t remember
That far back in either language.
So, I rely on others to tell the stories,
Each time perhaps a bit differently
Than the time before.
And, then, those stories themselves
Become part of the memories
That I just can’t seem to forget.
A Writer's Lament
Alas, the writer's rite of passage is an endless journey spent searching for just the right words to write---the right thing to say to convey meaning to someone other than the writer.
Here's to all writers in search of the full measure of meaning contained in the fewest, most expressive words. And apologies in advance to e e cummings.
Writers’ Rites
By Bill Kirk
writers
they are a funny lot
seeming never to be satisfied
with just any old word
instead they are
constantly in search of
just the right one
to convey
just the right meaning
and to nestle in
just the right spot
in a well-strung string
of other such particular words
which will of course
if well chosen
punctuate a thought
in the most righteous way
woe is he or she
whose evasive word
is indeed lost
for it is likely
in the company
of a muse
who has excused herself
for parts unknown
sadly leaving
the forlorn word lover
unamused to
suffer in silence
alone
waiting
searching
hoping
struggling—
these are the rites
of the un-written writer
seeking just the right words to write
Here's to all writers in search of the full measure of meaning contained in the fewest, most expressive words. And apologies in advance to e e cummings.
Writers’ Rites
By Bill Kirk
writers
they are a funny lot
seeming never to be satisfied
with just any old word
instead they are
constantly in search of
just the right one
to convey
just the right meaning
and to nestle in
just the right spot
in a well-strung string
of other such particular words
which will of course
if well chosen
punctuate a thought
in the most righteous way
woe is he or she
whose evasive word
is indeed lost
for it is likely
in the company
of a muse
who has excused herself
for parts unknown
sadly leaving
the forlorn word lover
unamused to
suffer in silence
alone
waiting
searching
hoping
struggling—
these are the rites
of the un-written writer
seeking just the right words to write
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Writer's Life On Some Distant Earth-Like Planet
"The grizzled writer (place yourself in this paragraph) wakes to the smell of fresh, strong brewed coffee wafting through the air from a steaming, old-fashioned percolator atop the ancient gas stove. Just the mere thought of that first sip is enough to force calloused feet into slippers/sandals/old deck shoes. Pulling on the tattered sweatshirt/sweater/shawl and jeans/chinos/kakhis, the author finally begins his/her morning trek, moving slowly yet deliberately across the well-worn hardwood toward the familiar kitchen.
The immediate objective is to retrieve the large, heavy, up-side-down mug---rinsed out, never washed---from the drain board between the chipped porcelain sink and stove. Not until the coffee is poured, the brew properly concocted to taste, the aroma fully savored and the first, stimulating sip has meandered past waiting taste buds en route to its target somewhere between heart and soul, does the author acknowledge the day to no one in particular. Then and only then can even the thought of this day's writing begin.
On the dark wooden desk an old manual typewriter waits for the imprint of leathery finger tips ready to attack. Looking through the open French doors and beyond the porch, the author scans the approaching tide for inspiration, waves providing a steady but variable rhythm punctuated by the call of sea birds searching for weak or unfortunate links in the food chain.
All is right with the world. Let the writing begin."
Hello.... Earth to Earth-like planet. Good luck with that. Reality check to follow....
The immediate objective is to retrieve the large, heavy, up-side-down mug---rinsed out, never washed---from the drain board between the chipped porcelain sink and stove. Not until the coffee is poured, the brew properly concocted to taste, the aroma fully savored and the first, stimulating sip has meandered past waiting taste buds en route to its target somewhere between heart and soul, does the author acknowledge the day to no one in particular. Then and only then can even the thought of this day's writing begin.
On the dark wooden desk an old manual typewriter waits for the imprint of leathery finger tips ready to attack. Looking through the open French doors and beyond the porch, the author scans the approaching tide for inspiration, waves providing a steady but variable rhythm punctuated by the call of sea birds searching for weak or unfortunate links in the food chain.
All is right with the world. Let the writing begin."
Hello.... Earth to Earth-like planet. Good luck with that. Reality check to follow....
Friday, March 20, 2009
Some Opportunities Are Just Plain Better Than Others....
Things seem to happen for a reason; sometimes quite unexpectedly, bringing joy in the most interesting forms. One day in 1992, I picked up a community weekly newspaper at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop after starting a new job with the State of California. I had recently changed jobs and work locations and my new work location away from the main headquarters held lots of interest given all of the opportunities to check things out on my walks to and from the bus stop.
Sitting in the coffee shop, I skimmed through the stories and ads in paper that day. The press of work had not yet caught up with me in my new job. As I sipped on a freshed squeezed cafe latte, there it was, a lonely little ad inside the back page: "Writer Wanted at community newspaper. Call for details or send resume and list of credits."
OK. So, the ad just got a smile out of me at first. Afterall, I hadn't majored in Journalism, didn't have a writing resume and couldn't boast of any writing credits---well, besides 20 years of business writing. Then, I thought, why not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides the coincidence was too strong that the paper was being run out of a small office only a block from my new job.
Fate couldn't have knocked on my door more loudly. Yet there was no joy when I stopped by with my professional resume which was chocked full of bureaucratic work experience and academic credentials. Did I mention none of it had anything much to do with writing? The scruffy-bearded publisher-editor-owner, sitting behind his manual type-writer in jeans and an open-collared shirt wasn't looking for a bureaucrat at the Suttertown News. And there I was in my brand new suit and tie, looking for all the world like the G-Man that I was.
But you know, sometimes an itch and a scratch are the very best of matches. Two weeks later I got a call from "Mr. Scruffy." Who cares that he was slightly desperate? I got my first assignment on a Wednesday with the final copy due the following Monday. And a week later, my second story became the cover story for the week. Soon after I was living the life and loving it, as a member of the editorial board, drinking free coffee with the rest of the gang, coming up with story ideas and making monumental news decisions for the "run on a shoestring" paper each week.
Thus began my three-year career in the newspaper business, chasing leads, pulling all-nighters to finish hot articles, joining paste-up parties the night before final copies went to the printers, and even making an occasional delivery to Espresso Metro, the little coffee shop downtown where I first caught the newspaper bug. The result was a momentary slice of Sacramento's history through the eyes of a novice journalist pretending as hard as he could to be a newspaperman.
If you get a similar chance to roll up your sleeves and get hands-on experience in journalism or in anything else that tickles your fancy, my advice is to jump first, then figure out what you are going to do....
Sitting in the coffee shop, I skimmed through the stories and ads in paper that day. The press of work had not yet caught up with me in my new job. As I sipped on a freshed squeezed cafe latte, there it was, a lonely little ad inside the back page: "Writer Wanted at community newspaper. Call for details or send resume and list of credits."
OK. So, the ad just got a smile out of me at first. Afterall, I hadn't majored in Journalism, didn't have a writing resume and couldn't boast of any writing credits---well, besides 20 years of business writing. Then, I thought, why not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides the coincidence was too strong that the paper was being run out of a small office only a block from my new job.
Fate couldn't have knocked on my door more loudly. Yet there was no joy when I stopped by with my professional resume which was chocked full of bureaucratic work experience and academic credentials. Did I mention none of it had anything much to do with writing? The scruffy-bearded publisher-editor-owner, sitting behind his manual type-writer in jeans and an open-collared shirt wasn't looking for a bureaucrat at the Suttertown News. And there I was in my brand new suit and tie, looking for all the world like the G-Man that I was.
But you know, sometimes an itch and a scratch are the very best of matches. Two weeks later I got a call from "Mr. Scruffy." Who cares that he was slightly desperate? I got my first assignment on a Wednesday with the final copy due the following Monday. And a week later, my second story became the cover story for the week. Soon after I was living the life and loving it, as a member of the editorial board, drinking free coffee with the rest of the gang, coming up with story ideas and making monumental news decisions for the "run on a shoestring" paper each week.
Thus began my three-year career in the newspaper business, chasing leads, pulling all-nighters to finish hot articles, joining paste-up parties the night before final copies went to the printers, and even making an occasional delivery to Espresso Metro, the little coffee shop downtown where I first caught the newspaper bug. The result was a momentary slice of Sacramento's history through the eyes of a novice journalist pretending as hard as he could to be a newspaperman.
If you get a similar chance to roll up your sleeves and get hands-on experience in journalism or in anything else that tickles your fancy, my advice is to jump first, then figure out what you are going to do....
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