In the end, the risk is always worth it.
The thought arose midnight
somewhere between
the witching hours of deception
and the sparkling thighs
that rubbed away
what was left
of her common sense.
Ignoring the blanket stretch of solitude
reaching for the sweat
dripping from the threads of her hands
the thirst of her shadow
descending from the heavens like an angel
waiting for her to open herself up
so that the incarceration of her heart
can be weighed against the gold of her patience
she could not have been less wise
than to let deception
play its numbers on her skin
like melting pearls
sliding down the creases of a well-worn backbone
that she traded in for a brief moment
of Black Orchard or Issey Miyake cologne
though neither could wash away the shame
to which lust had gifted her thoughts
and the rose petals aligning the secret bath
to which she has mixed in her cup of distorted priorities
only smelled of death
in becoming another
she failed
to become herself
Check out this excellent post by Kristen as a response to the “For me, traditional publishing means poverty. But self-publish? No way” article as posted to The Guardian.
Personally, I admire aspects of both Traditional and Self-Pub and I couldn’t have said it better. I really liked Myth #2: “Self-Publish and ALL Time Will Be Spent Marketing Not Writing”. This is actually not true and proves a lot of people judge books by their covers (pun intended). Sure, Indie’s promote a lot and this is what is seen in public, but those Indie’s who do more promo and marketing than they do writing their next book is…umm, doing it wrong and are not staples for the entire Indie Author Community.

One of the things I love about doing what I do is that I have the ability to connect so closely with you guys and speak on the topics that matter to you. Yesterday, a fellow writer shared an article from The Guardian, For me traditional publishing means poverty. But self-publish? No way. She wanted my take on what the author had to say.
All right.
For those who’ve been following this blog for any amount of time, I hope I’ve been really clear that I support all paths of publishing (vanity press doesn’t count).
All forms of publishing hold advantages and disadvantages and, as a business, we are wise to consider what form of publishing is best for our writing, our work, our goals, our personality, etc. But my goal has always been to educate writers so they are making wise decisions based off data, not just personal…
View original post 2,294 more words
…is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
-Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love
This is just an excerpt of the entire quote and its so deep to me. It’s not our failures or inabilities that stop us from going that extra mile. For many of us, its what we can do, our strengths, our gifts, and that light deep down inside of us that frighten us most.
The sun had not completely set on my first night away before I was flooded with post and story ideas. And by the time the sky was overspread with blackness and poured into my bedroom, I’d written two poems already. To what do I owe this sudden flood of inspiration? I suppose it’s because a relaxed mind is a creative mind, or so they say. But in my reflection, I’ve had a lot of time to think and have come to the conclusion that there is some truth to that saying; separation from the online scene does tend to resurrect a kind of motivation lost during the constant interaction online. Personally, the desire to force a thought on top white paper seems to ring too loudly when I want to write, or rather feel I have to as opposed to when I’m just living life. The anxious stroke of the pen, or the thrashing keyboard always comes in that moment when you’re consciously aware that you must scribble something into existence. You thus search desperately for something to spark a flame, something to satisfy this urge but pushing always pulls away. The more you push a thought, try as you must to force a post, the more ideas slip from your fingers like liquid desperation.
It is at this point that the mind needs to be set aside for a while. To separate, to relax, and to calm from the influx of emails, WordPress Readers, and advice on how we should transfer our thoughts on to the page or rather, the screen. This tends to, for me, bring to life a sudden rush of creativity. Where thoughts have been left to grow and to mature before hitting the spotlight. To give my thoughts a chance to breathe and to exist, all neatly wrapped and stored into this place inaccessible among the crowd but dancing in a place called solitude. Even this post for instance, came easy, smooth and without effort. There was no question or debate or concern about what it would be like. It just existed and I let it be. Just a coming forth of thoughts I’d written down while sitting on my bed and yet not at all there. Somewhere uninterrupted by the perspective of others, whose words do tend to spark great creativity, but whose birth is not as beautiful as the new born torn from my own flesh. Words that come untainted and unscathed by opinion. Nothing but pure inspiration come from my own head, smack down in the midst of the quite.
I’m afraid this blog is transforming into something I do not want it to be. That there’s a cloud here that visits every time I publish a book. It lingers over the tops of our heads like an annoying conversation that will not end. How did we get here? I don’t want to write about writing today. Don’t want to hear explanations of grammatical correctness, and book cover design. I don’t want to hear anything about Self-Publishing and ISBN Numbers. And yet, here I am, talking about writing! Why does this cloud of a niche insist on trying to find its way to this blog? I’ve always enjoyed the variety of subject matter here and Dear Writing, I love you, but I cannot let you sneak up on us like this. We need some space. Yes, you are starting to get on my nerves. I don’t want to hear about books and why I should be reading them. I want to hear about life and why I should be living it. I want to talk more about what’s going on inside these walls called the four corners of the Earth. Want to talk about how well my husband’s surgery went and how much I’m enjoying his break from the job. Want to whisper sweet poetic somethings into this post just because I feel like it. No prompts. No tips. Just poetic somethings. Want to sit back and tell you why Lean on Me is the best movie ever and I challenge anyone to tell me I’m wrong. Want to explain why I’m probably wrong. Dear Writing, let me laugh my way into this post without thoughts of you. Time for us to take a break. Give me some space.
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