Bah

NaBloPoMo is not working out for me. I don’t know why I try these monthly posting/writing things…..I’m just not able to keep up with it and I might as well admit it and stop trying. I simply cannot write unless I’m in the mood and I’m not in the mood every single day. I refuse to force it “Push yourself!” they say – I say BAH. If you (I) have to force it then it becomes work. I want it to remain play, fun, my creative outlet. So sue me. (wink) I’ve had a bad couple of weeks. My old … Continue reading Bah

Poets I Love, Part 1

I have two groups for poetry on my Google Reader. One is for poets I read that I’ve met on the net through poetry prompt sites like Three Word Wednesday, Read Write Poem and dVerse Poet’s Pub. The other is for poets I’ve found through online literary magazines or poets whose books I’ve bought. Today I’m going to talk about poets I’ve met online, share my thoughts and link to their websites. Several years ago when I started this blog it was an online poet’s community that gave me the courage to share my own words in a more proactive … Continue reading Poets I Love, Part 1

A Hot Steaming Roiling Glut of Adjectives

I have a thing about adjectives so when I read something that someone has written that is chock full of adjectives inserted willy-nilly it makes me feel like I feel when I can’t open a new jar of preserves or pickles or spaghetti sauce or whatever the jar may hold. It makes me feel annoyed and exasperated. In the hands of some, adjectives become the written equivalent of verbal histrionics, descriptive word acrobats jumping and tumbling all over the page to the point that it completely distracts from the story itself. Overload! Whew! Descriptive writing doesn’t need a glut (love … Continue reading A Hot Steaming Roiling Glut of Adjectives

Details

I’ve almost forgotten how the crisp autumn air felt when you pushed your fingers in my hair, the flat yellow eye of the sun glaring through the windshield, the musky scent of your perfectly pressed trousers, the high shine on your black shoes. I’ve almost forgotten the rhythmic squeak of rusty springs at the shifting of weight, the sharp intake of breath, the sudden lapse of movement. I’ve almost forgotten you. Continue reading Details