Writing Junk to Become the Artist You Were Meant to Be!

My mornings start with a pen, paper, and a cup of coffee!

“When you write, don’t say, “I’m going write a poem.” that attitude will freeze you right away. Sit down with the least expectation of yourself; say “I am free to write the worst junk in the world.” You have to give yourself the space to write a lot without destination…If every time you sat down, you expected something great, writing would always be a great disappointment. Plus that expectation would also keep you from writing.”

- Natalie Goldberg/ Writing Down the Bones

I cannot begin to tell you how many times I’ve shot myself in the foot, and probably been my own biggest source of writers block by my determination to write something amazing when ever I get sat front of my computer.

I, like many of you, write a lot. I am currently working on three novels, updating and re-editing my short stories (over 300) to start re submitting, working on two collections of poetry, writing three or four articles for the Examiner every week, devotionals and encouragement articles for The CypressTimes, and I send off 3 poems every four days to a card company, because they pay good for greeting card poems. Not to mention trying to keep up with my website, and blogs, and my social networks. I am also beginning a new international project called I AM POETRY: Poetry to Save the World. I am still collecting names of poets, pen and ink, pain, and sketch artists, as well as tattoo artists (so if you are one, send me an e-mail and I’ll send you some info, and you can decide if you want to get involved..sam@samthewriter.com) It’s sad but I do have a Twitter account, Facebook, MySpace, Digg, and I frequent FaithWriters, and other networks.

As a freelance writer it is my goal to sell enough articles, poems, and short stories to get me enough cash to buy some more time to finish one of my WOPs (Work In Progress), so every time I sit in front of my computer, I want what ever I am writing to be good (which means) salable. But that is not always going to happen, as we all know. I remember one night I submitted a poem to a editor, (who I had just sold three poems to, and got rave reviews) and he sent me an e-mail back saying, “Thank you Sam, for completely wasting my time. You wrote it fast, submitted it quick, and it is literary …”let’s use the word ‘poo’ here, it’s less colorful that the one he chose to use. I learned my lesson.

The key to writing great and producing real literary art more often, is by being consistent with our craft. Feel free to wake up in the morning, get your cup of coffee or tea, sit in front of your computer, and just write what ever is on your mind. It may turn out to be a poem, a great short story, the beginning of a novel, a blog entry, or a nasty piece of poo; and you know what: that is just fine.

Feel free to write stuff that stinks. Be ready and expect junk to pour out of you from time to time. It’s like literary detox. Pour yourself out on paper, over the key board. Because as you begin to do this, you’ll discover that you’re setting yourself free to the artist that you were born to be. In Natalie Goldberg’s book, Writing Down the Bones, she shares a story about how a young writer who lived in the same apartment complex came over to visit and Natalie let her take a bunch of her old note books. After a few days of reading the girl came back and told Natalie how reading some of her early ‘crap’ encouraged her. It made Natalie more real to the young writer. It also made the dream of someday becoming a great writer something to be grasped.

Everyone one has their junk. I have a lot of poo to put on paper, and so do you. Get to writing that nasty stuff. It will help shape you, make you, give you direction, hone your skills, discover the artist within, and most of all, by just letting go and letting it all out, it will help you set yourself free to be who you were meant to be.

Above all, have fun with the process and write, write, write.

SamTheWriter,

Signing off.

www.samthewriter.com

sam@samthewriter.com

Summer Love: The Writer’s time to revitalize and refresh their writing life

The best part of waking up

Coffee is first thing

it helps my pen write smoothly

sip and write: perfect

- a little fun haiku, from my haiku collection “Coffee & the Pen“

What gets you going in the morning? Do you have to be out of bed at a certain time to get to work or get the kids to school? Or are you one of those amazing people who have in inner alarm clock that goes off every morning without fail?

Personally, I need an alarm clock. Actually I need three of them: One sets on my night sand, and it is really annoying. The second one is my cell phone alert, and the third, and my most effective, is my wife getting angry that I am letting the other two blare forever. Then, I hit the brew button on my coffee maker so when I am finished taking a shower, I have a hot pot ready to be sipped on, and a project laying on my desk calling me.

Summer is a really great time for writers. If you have kids: you do not have to wake them up early and go through the morning routine of hurrying them through their morning rituals of clothes, breakfast, teeth, hair, shoes, lunch box, backpack (do a quick check to make sure your son’s new friend frog he found at the park yesterday didn’t mysteriously end up in his back pack for show-and-tell, again), rush out the door.

They usually sleep longer.

I have also read studies on sleep, and discovered that in the summer, when it is hotter and more humid, our body feels that it needs less sleep. We wake more during the night, sleep lighter, and can wake up earlier without too much of a fight with our wills. “Yeah right”, I can hear you say now. I use this these months as a summer-cleaning time mentally.

Some people talk about spring-cleaning, being a time when they go through their house and clean like a crazy person. Not that our homes are horrible messes, trash centers, or hurricane epicenters, but it is a time to refocus, restore, revitalize.  That’s how I view summer. Since I have more time to spend on writing in the morning, I don’t let it go to waste. If the summer heat is going to help me sleep less and still feel good, so be it.

I use to turn the ac way up to make up for the heat, but now I open the windows and let the morning warmth and birds chirping out side (which is actually the chirping of gossiping neighbors sitting on the porch next door, smoking, drinking coffee mixed with vodka, and chattering about the latest desperate house wife on the block.) which is perfect motivation to get me out of bed and down stairs.

Summer is so full of inspiration for the writer. The beginning of summer is a perfect time to clean out old files, dust off and revisit that manuscript your hammered out last summer, pull out your poetry notebooks and get them all typed into organized files on your computer, and get ready to start submitting like crazy, while writing new, fresh pieces, which you may use now, or, set aside for next summer.

Where ever you are, and whatever your schedule is, try and use all the opportunities this season provides you to reset, revitalize, and restore the goals you have for your personal writing life.

I hope that your summer starts out with a bang. Have a blast.

And if there is something that you like to do in the summer to kick off your writing, I’d love to hear about it. Comment here and share it with other readers, or drop me a line at Sam@samthewriter.com

Write, Write, Write

SamTheWriter, taking advantage of sweet summer love.

A Writer never has a Vacation: be Prepared

“ A writer never has a vacation. For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.”

- Eugene Ionesco / Gothem Writers’ Workshop

I am constantly writing. Most freelance writers know exactly what I’m talking about. When I got my new cell phone (Centro), I was very excited to discover that it had come fully packed with Microsoft word.  Cell phones are one of the most amazing tools, for everyone, but especially writers.

My first week with my new phone I got stuck in a very small town, for a week, and couldn’t find an internet connection anywhere. But, because of my new, sweet phone, I was able to write and send off four poems to Blue Mountain Arts, which within a few days, proved a good idea.

Being equipped, at all times is so important as a writer. I keep a small notebook in my back pocket at all times, and usually two pens in my pants somewhere. Since I write so often, and for a few different places, I don’t want to miss a great idea. I use my pad to write stuff as it comes and when I get a chance later I either read my notes onto my Centro’s voice recorder, or make a note right then on the word program.  Many times I’ll even send myself a quick e-mail to remind myself later to read my notes.

No matter what I am currently working on, I never stop taking notes for other projects. I may be writing ideas for poetry I’m sending to Blue Mountain, or a few other literary mags, an idea for this blog, my personal blog, a journalism article for the Examiner ( I’m Wichita, Ks. Christian Faith & Culture Examiner), sending off short stories, or ideas for one of few novels, or poetry project.  Doesn’t matter what it is, I have to keep ideas flowing.

I was on Ray Bradbury’s website about a year ago, and he made the comment,

“I never got anywhere without a pad of paper and a pen, I am a writer, so I am naked without them, and I hate to be naked.”

I have to agree, about being naked that is. I have, unfortunately, found myself naked in public: no pen, no paper, no cell. And, without fail, every time I had forgotten my literary clothes, I would meet the most amazing idea. By the time I got home, I had forgotten most of it and was left with an ok idea, but without the magic.

If you are a writer, you should be writing all the time, or thinking about what you will write. After you have some great ideas and you know how you are going to use them. take some time and let them marinate in your mind. Mental marination can add an amazing depth to your work. I usually let an idea marinate at least a few weeks. But after two weeks, I write it down and send it off.

Well, my kids are calling me upstairs to read them a story before bed, so I’m out.

Have fun, writing. Write a lot, write often. Write, write, write, then edit and submit.

oh yea, and to all of you parents: Happy first day of Summer! We are writers, but we are parents first! Make sure you don’t neglect your most important responsibility, greatest gift, and most valuable possession.

Later,

Samuel Connelly

Visit my writer’s site @ SamTheWriter

And if you have a comment or just want to drop a line, you can rech me at Sam@SamTheWriter.com.

Because we must write to save the world!

Today was a very busy day for me.

I woke up at 7am and worked my morning job till 5pm. Then I got off and rushed home in time to sit at the table and scarf down an amazing meal with my wife and two kids. It actually looked amazing and the smell that filled my nostrils, as I crashed through the front door of my house with work bag in hand, instantly made me salivate. As for taste, I don’t know, I had to literally open my mouth and throat, set the plate inside and run to the restroom to toss some deodorant on, shower myself with aftershave (not to get rid of a smell but blend the nastiness of work with the clean irish scent, and hope for something normal out of it.

Then off to my daughters dance class, which ended in enough time to rush to church at 7pm, so the kids wouldn’t miss out on a prize for bringing their bibles four weeks in a roll. Soon as church is over at 8:30pm, I take the kids home (wife is already at work at the hospital now) give them a bed time snack, read a story, hugs, kisses, prayer, one last glass of water, one last…no two last kisses..9:20pm they are down, I only missed their bed time by 40 minutes. YES!

I take a shower, make a pot of coffee, clean up the left over dinner and kitchen, sit down on the couch and watch the news- ok, who am I kidding,  watch the sci-fi channel for 10 minutes to un-wind – whoops, open my eyes, it’s now 2:15am…darn, I fell asleep. And now I’m too tired to get up and right because my alarm will go off in 4 and a half hours, to get me ready for another episode of the same thing, just tweeked  a little.

The next day, while I was at work, (in between meetings) a buddy of mine came in, and wanted to see if I could grab lunch with with. I thought about it, and decided that I needed a break from reality, so I went to lunch with him (I figured I would just tell my boss that I fell asleep on the toilet…strange enough who’d make it up, right?)

At lunch, I told my friend about the craziness of my life.

“Why the hell do you write?” he said.

“Wha” I started to say before my diet Pepsi came through my nose and dripped on my shirt.

“Writing” he continued “no way, I’d do it.  If you stopped writing do you realize that you’d have time to sleep?”

NOW right here I want to stop. Nothing else matters but the question that got my nostrils stinging:

” Why the hell do you write!”

I know why I write. I write because I am a writer. Because I must. Because I can not fathom the thought of putting down the pen. Because I refuse to stop being a day dreamer. Money, or not money, I will work two jobs to support my family if I must, but I’ll not stop doing what I was born to do.

What about you?

Why do you scratch down your stories, poems, articles on that wrinkled up small pad of paper in your back pocket, or purse. Why do you stay up strange hours pounding the key board?

A few nights ago I had a dream that we were in the distant future, and there were NO writers, no books, just computers to speak literature to us. Nothing new. Can you imagine living in a world without literature? Living in a world were there is no written word.

When I woke up I thought about why ‘the hell’ I do it. I have to tell you the truth: I am scared to death of a world without creativity, without art, without poetry.

All artists are in the business of expressing the beauty of the human mind and the awe and wonder of the planet we live in.  And in these times fear, war, injustice, hunger, pain, and terror, there is more a reason for us to stay awake all night, scratching away on our tattered note pads on lunch breaks, sneaking a minute here and there to switch our work computer over to our WIP (work in progress) on Word.

I say the world needs a Creative revolution. A re-birth of creativity. A fresh look at the written word. I say write, write, write until you can not write anymore. Send your scribblings everywhere, to as many people as possible. Let everyone see that the writers are not going to fade away, but we will help forge a future that demands literacy and creativity as a diet for every human.

I sent a collection of sci-fi short stories I wrote, to a friend of mine who runs an orphanage in Thailand, and another to a buddy that leads a missions team in Uganda. They translated them to the kids and watched them listen intensely, (momentarily forgetting their hunger) I sent poetry to friends in the military who are in Iraq, and to a brother on a submarine for the next 8 months. He sent me an e-mail telling me that they have passed through the whole sub.

People want to escape. We offer that ability. We are the guides for time travel, we are the doors to alternate realities. Write, write, write.

Why should you write?

You should write as if you know that you are saving the world.

Samthewriter

Taste Something New- The Literary Buffet

“We have always found the Irish to be odd,

they refuse to be English

Winston Churchill”

I love this quote. Partly because I am half Irish blood, and half because I think Churchill made some of the funniest, simple, and profound statements.

What does this statement have to do with writing?

A few years ago I while flipping through the channels, I was captured by this statement, “Everyone has some measure of prejudice.” I stopped for a moment to listen to this lady try and convince everyone of their inability to be non-prejudice. Soon I just laughed at the fact that she was referring to like and dislike. “Check this out,” she said, as if about to reveal some great, deep truth, “this young man told me, before the show that he did not like creamer in his coffee, because, ‘I like my coffee to be manly’, see that is a form of prejudice.”

I watched for about ten more minutes only to discover that I have some deep issues of prejudice-ism. Yea, my intolerance goes very far and includes: buttermilk, tomatoes, radishes, fried okra, cheap toilet paper, crotchless underwear, and much more.

All joking aside

Most of my life growing up in a Christian home, (nothing wrong with Christian homes, I am a Christian and hope I am creating a wonderful experience for my wife and kids in my Christian home) I was not allowed to read or listen to anything that was not bluntly and boldly Christian. I liked Jerry B. Jenkins, but I did not like the fact that he was my only option, “He is better and more wholesome than that evil Steven King. You’d never see those two guys socializing with each other, never!” my mother once said to me.

As my passion for writing began to increase my hunger for literature began to become harder and harder to satisfy. I started to visit libraries more, but I was afraid to pick up anything ‘secular’ for fear that the ground would open and swallow me alive, or lightening burst over my head.

I quickly discovered that I was raised to be prejudice towards most of the arts. One day, years later, I was home by myself watching the sci-fi channel, and I saw the Green Mile, edited for television (of course J). I loved the movie and wanted to find it at the local bookstore. When I finally got my hands on it, and discovered that it was a novel of short stories, I started burning through it like it was a juicy steak and I had not eaten for months.

I sat in the bookstore, laughing out loud, commenting, and just being stupidly absorbed, in that novel.

Then is happened

I took a moment to turn it over and see who this amazing author was and holy crap, it was Stephan King – basically I knew I had lost my soul. He was a master of horror, a messenger of evil, the King of kill, and …totally brilliant.

In that moment I found myself at a catastrophic intersection in my life. That day I put the book down. Later, however, I came to the conclusion that literature is an art, It is beautiful, and I can not believe that this wonderful beauty was not in some way a gift to man, by God. Call it God, the spirit of creativity, the muse, whatever- it is incredible.

As writers, we must write, but we must also read. So many creative minds work hard to wordsmith a literary masterpiece that we will miss, if we get hung up on silly rules (which count for nothing where eternity is concerned). If we allow our personal prejudices to create a wall, we can still be writers, but we limit our creativity.

I am not saying that we should all write horror, or mystery, or sci-fi, or whatever other genre there is out there, but in reading what you love (no matter who write it) and tasting other writers and genres, we discover writing techniques, new and amazing ways to describe a moment, and tips for plot that we may never find if we refuse to crack a few covers out side of our circle of preference.

I encourage you. Dom’t compromise your writing convictions, but feel free to explore the literary world. Be mature, not dictated by a specific taste. Believe me, once you just experiment and try new authors, you will find a lot of stuff you hate, but you will also connect with and discover a wonderfully wide expanse of beautifully crafted lands.

Feel free to browse the fields of sci-fi, or the hills of fiction-lit, the valleys of mystery and horror. Taste the refreshing waters of poetry, and climb the mountains of spiritual encouragement. If you have never read a ‘secular short story’ get your hands on some Ray Bradbury, Poe, or even Richard Matteson. If you have never read a spiritually encouraging story; grab some C.S. Lewis or Joan Anderson.

Try it all out.

Today I picked up the Writer’s Digest, and to my astonishment, guess who is on the cover? You guessed it, Steven King & Jerry B. Jenkins… together. Come to find out, they both really enjoyed and knew each others work. Steven was a fan of Jerry’s Left Behind Series, and Jerry was a huge fan of Steven’s Green Mile, and The Stand. These Goliaths of the writing world met and found that they could fully enjoy each other. Sure King said that he did not personally believe that the world would end like the book of revelation says it will, and Jenkins feels a little uncomfortable with some of the more horrific work of the horror King, but they could agree upon one unmovable foundation,  writing is art, and it is a gift from God.

Let the English be English and the Irish be Irish. Taste it all, try something new. We writers stand before an international literary buffet. Grab a few plates, stuff yourself. It won’t all go to your hips, but it just might fill your head, with something wonderful.

SamTheWriter

Signing off

The Poetry of Existance

My boy Josiah, sitting in front of a sweet picture of of forest.

“For the first time  I noticed trees and flowers. I learned  names: Russian Olive, elm, oak, peony, geranium, petunia, marigold. Details  mattered. Cracks on the sidewalks, broken glass, worn stop signs, everything spoke to me. Rock, leaf, car. I rode rushes of thought with my cheap pen. I gripped a spiral notebook.

“Poetry, I whispered, poetry”
- Natalie Goldberg/ from essay ‘How Poetry Saved My Life‘

Life is poetic

I would not be wrong to say that life is poetry in motion.

This month has been a great month for me. I have been able to stare into the mirror and see myself through eyes challenged to see the motion of poetry being the fluid of moment by moment life. Although the personal challenge I made of myself was to read a poem and write a poem everyday (And the two poems could not be one in the

same), the journey has been a journey into self-realization.

When you look at the world as a poet, you have no choice but to open your mind and thought process to the possibility that everything happens for a reason and, be it good reasons or bad reasons, there are a multitude of lessons, like parables, in every action and reaction, and each paints its own living artwork for display.

As a poet, you challenge yourself to listen to the world, to open your ears -those unseen story catchers – and get quiet enough to hear and catch the stories of humanity, and the mysteries of the ‘whys’ and ‘how-comes’ of mankind’s hardest issues.

When you open up to the spirit of poetry, and step into the literary rivers of its motion, you can understand and see the beauty of life, and appreciate all its expressions of true art.

Since this is National Poetry Month, I chose to celebrate with other poets, like Natalie Goldberg in her collection of poems, Top of My Lungs, Eugene Gloria, Drivers at the Short-Time Motel, Stephen Dunn’s, Different Hours(winner of the Pulitzer Prize), Billy Collins, Sailing Alone Around the Room, the young and amazing Eireann Corrigan, You Remind Me of You, and one of my personal favorite poets, the insanely wonderful Gregory Orr, Concerning The Book That Is The Body Of The Beloved, and How Beautiful the Beloved.

Sitting at my favorite coffee shop with book in one hand and Venti Americano (with a half inch cream and six splenda) in the other, I take my time and savor every poem. As I sit there finding pleasure in the the poems I’ve devoured and anticipating the joy of the next between my lips, pressed by my coffee stained teeth, turning page after page with my tongue I clear out of my mind anything that would hinder my ability to catch every word and letter breathed from the poets mouths and minds.

It would be easy to swallow books whole, and then suffer from a bad stomach ache, like the 16 0z steak I put away Monday night with three bites, which eats at my guts now as I write. I do not remember what that meat tasted like, though my wife took hours to perfect it, to my own shame. So I force myself to take my time with the poem, careful not loose the meaning, so I do not forget the flavors, months from now.

The art of poetry, the poetry of art: life in action, poetry in motion, can add wonder, purpose, pleasure, and a sence of humanities creativity to each day, if we choose to take the time to allow it to change us. And it will change us, if we allow it to. I have answered the Muses’ call to put on the specitcals of the Artist, and see what it reveals.
Some poets write about the hard times they experienced growing up in a war torn country, some write about the beauty of nature, the pleasure of love and sex, or the wonder of innocents. I read a few poems yesterday from a book of poems that spoke out against the war. A few books over on the same shelf I read a poem about the freedom that comes with the blood of those who fight for it. Poetry speaks out through all humanity. It has no one special cause, but to promote life.

Poetry speaks in many languages, through all races; by both heroes and villains, the wealthy and poor, tyrants, terrorists, and freedom fighters. We are all brothers in humanity, and at times poetry and the spirit of creativity (the Muse, or God, or Passion) moves upon us and forces the best and worst of us to crack open, like the walls of a broken over filled dam, and create something beautiful.
There are still a few days in National Poetry Month left to challenge yourself to join the celebration of poets and artists. Challenge yourself this month to put on the same spectacles and see what the creative powers of art reveals.

Even if you miss it (National Poetry Month), the truth, the passion, the art, the love, the spirit, the poetry – never stops. The river never ceasing to flow. The artists never stop the celebration – hop in.

I’ll see you there.

Do It On Purpose, Or It Won’t Happen

I recently had a friend e-mail me and ask me why I write so many articles and blogs about dealing with the obstacles that keep a writer from writing.

“Why not spend more time sharing your ideas about writing, and talk about the stuff you have sold.”

Maybe  she is right. I do like to write about all aspects of writing, but I think that I tend to spend so much time writing about the ‘obstacles’ because there are so many ‘would-be-writers’ out there that should be and could be writers, but are not.

So many creative minds quickly loose a real passion for the art because of all the obstacles. I have ran into way too many people that have handed me off a great story, at a coffee shop, e-mail, bookstore,etc., and it is a real shame to hear them say that they would love to write but do not have the time to pursue it.

There are thousands if not millions of amazing stories, right now, sitting somewhere, unpublished, and unenjoyed. I once read a statistic that said 89% of writers do not get published, because they do not follow through with the process.  I can believe that too. Published writers are published because they followed through.

Writing the actual story is the funnest part of be a writer for me, but it is not the only part of writing. Writing, is 75% writing and editing, 20% studying the market and writing a learning how to get your masterpiece in their hands, and 10% walk out and put it in the mail (or e-mail).

I sold a few poems this week. Between this week and last week I made $2,500. You know, that was worth every bit of the time it spent me to push ’send’ on my keyboard to get those poems to the editor. It’s funny, but after I sent off a couple poems last week the editor e-mailed me back and said, “If you want to make money, and let your writing pay for you, you need to keep sending me stuff.”Not many editors will do that, but when I read it to my wife, jokingly, she said, “You have an open invite, if you can make that kind of money in a week or two, why are you not writing all the time. If I could writing like that, I’d be writing every single day.”

She is right. And I am.

I guess that this blog is really going to be about you. I want you to know that the difference between those authors who get published, and those who do not, is that they who get published did it on purpose.

If you have a passion to write, then write. If you want to make a living at it, there is no better time to do it than now. There are publications that buy anything that can be written. You like to write, you want to be published, then write and don’t stop sending those manuscripts off.

And once you’ve sent it off. If you get a rejection notice, I like to send a thank you note and ask them if they would recommend another editor to me. This is really successful.

Just get out there. You have stories or poems that someone is dying to read. Don’t keep it hidden away, get it out there, and be the writer, you were born to be.

SamtheWriter

signing off

www.samthewriter.com

National Poetry Month

Are You Poetry? Text: IAmPoetry to: 41411

April is right around the corner and being a super lover of poetry, I am promoting this year’s poetry month like crazy, especially here on Facebook because I know that several of you guys share my love for literature and the arts. I think poetry is at the top of my favorites to write. It is nice to read, has several forms (which grown daily), and can pay very well too! (Side benefit, of course)

I want to encourage you, if you are a lover of poetry, to find a way to be apart of this national day. Maybe you love to write, maybe you don’t write but you love to read it; there are great ways for everyone to be apart of it.

First of all, for all of us who love to read it, Poets.org has great resources, like “Poem in my pocket”, a-poem-a-day (which sends a poem to your e-mail or cell phone every day), and several ways to get involved.

It’s in my pocket

If you are a poet, and are looking to get some of your work published, check out Writers & Poets Online. You can create a free profile and then if you click on Writers Tools, you have instant access to an amazing literary magazine listing, where you can find one you like, click, and have all the info you need for publishing.

BLOGS -
If you are a normal blogger, one way to celebrate the month is by posting your own poems as blogs. It is a great way to exercise your writing skills,and an even better way to network with other writers, as many writers, like myself, do internet searches for poetry blogs. Also, if you have a poetry blog, drop me an e-mail with the link; I am putting together a Poetry Bloggers, network page in my poetry section of SamTheWriter.com, to make it easier for you to connect with others. I will also be featuring my favorite poet’s blog, with an interview of the poet, on my site, and writer blog to help you get connected and get a little exposure for yourself.

If that’s you, drop me a line: sam@samthewriter.com – in the subject line write ‘My Poet Blog’

SO, what am I doing for NPM?

For starters,
* This month I am submitting at least one poem a day, to a literary magazine.
* Taking time to search for fellow poets with blogs, and connecting with them.
* I am updating the ‘Poetry’ page of www.SamTheWriter.com, so that, by April, poets will be able to
find the Markets that suit them, much easier.

Many of you know that I have several samples of my poetry online, check them out and tell me which one is your personal favorite.

Here are a few of the poems I have had published, Check them out:

* REMEMBER ME

* THE WRITE

* SHE

* QUIET LOVE GAME

* I Must Write, I Must Dance

Feel free to check these guys out and tell me what you think.

Here is one that has not been published yet, but has one two writers awards, from ‘Love Journal, and Passion for Marriage Magazine:

It’s Called ‘Love You So Much’ and it is based off of a series of sticky notes my wife had left for me around the house. I took each note (12 in all) and wrote a responce poem to each and in my poetry collection (to be published around November) The Chronciels of a Lover, I made a short chaper for these sticky notes and responces, called ‘A Trail of Sparks’.

I Am SO In Love With You…

I am so in love with you and it happened so fast, as the words and the feelings, and all the emotions collide, like two massive planets that crash. Like the waves in the sea, breaking tides, pulling me, to the depths of the deep of our hearts like the sea

I am so in love with you and it hit so intense and hot, like stars crashing, planets ramming, earth and moon slamming into a billion pieces setting the universe into flames; an unquenchable furnace, fires flowing through space, so vast its expanse like when our hearts come into a collision-embrace

I am so in love with you and the passion’s so loud- close to insane, like the lightning-bashing violent winds of a hurricane thrashing, and broad-casting the awe and wonder of the astounding-thunder-like pounding of Love beating ferociously the drums of our hearts

I am so in love with you!

Well there’s quite a bit here, and I hope you enjoyed this little note.

If you want to keep up to date with any new writing announcements, writer’s events, any poetry readings I will be at or book signings; new writing markets, or writing and poetry news, get your cell phone and text Samthewriter, to 41411.

Later,

Sam Connelly

Check out my writer’s site
SamTheWriter.com

Or my Writer’s Blog
* AShotOfLiteraryCaffeine

Submit before You Forget!

‘Let your story or article sit before you submit it, but only for a day or two, perhaps a week. Then polish and send it off to market’

- Quote from Getting Published, Writer’s Digest Books

I have written over 200 short stories, 300 poems, 30 songs, around 300 articles, two novels (I’m currently shopping around) and have scratched my name into four picnic tables…(what can I say, writers must write…right?) and one of my biggest setbacks is that many of those stories have waited too long to be fondled by an editor.

Procrastination is one of those great enemies of writers. We write our stories, reread them, maybe even share them with a few friends, and then have a silly little ritual of hiding them away in our my-next-intention-is-to-submit-this-puppy box or file cabinet, and the next time we see them is when we lost our car keys in that general area. Even then we don’t have time to pick it back up…we are rushing out the door, late, because of those stupid keys.

I have said many times: Writers must Write, to be called writers. This is true, but there really is no reason, especially in these days with online publications, and a ton of literary magazines and e-zines, for a writer to be starving.

There are a ton of markets who are ready to buy your amazing piece. There are editors that are looking (as you read this) for your story, poem, or article.  But for some crazy reason, and I think it is because of this peanut scare, or editors fears of fleshing pickles walking the streets, editors are not going to come to your house and ask you for that story…

But can you imagine…..

You get a knock on the door. When you open it there is a man, dressed in a suit, clothes torn, hair messed up, and smells like Fred Bull’s (the 440 pound winner of last years hot dog eating contest) armpits.

You: “Can I help you?”

Editor: “I have walked 500 miles, and then I walked 500 more, just to be the editor who walked a 1,000 miles and now sits here at your door.”  (maybe that was a song…yeah)

You: “Why?” you ask the stinky little creepy man who looks like he lost a fight with an elephant…who doesn’t ….wear deodorant? (I don’t know)

Editor: “….because I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the editor who buys your story from you.” (He might even have a singing twin!)

POINT is: It never happens this way…and if it does for you, record it and put it on YouTube!

You have to submit, and submit often, if you plan on getting your work published. I have had several things published, but I can tell you that I had to get my share of rejection slips first, and to get those I had to submit.

Don’t let anything stop you from submitting your work. As you write and hang out in cafe’s coffee shops, bookstores, etc. you are going to meet many people who all claim the same thing

“Yea, I have written several stories. They’re all on files, or drawers, somewhere, I think.” Fellow writer, I urge you to make it your personal, active daily goal to never become that person.

Don’t let fear stop you

• Fear that no one will like your story- some won’t, who cares, you didn’t write it for them; others will love it. There are publications looking for it.
• Fear that it will get rejected? It probably will, this is not bad, I look at it as the markets way of helping narrow my search’ it gets me closer, with each rejection, to the right market.

I want to encourage you to take out that piece that has been laying around for some time now, dust it off, polish it up, and send it off.

There are many ways to do get it done. I have a list of resources on my ‘Writers Help‘ section of my web site. Or you can check out places like Poets & Writers online.

What ever you do, do it.

You, my friend are a writer!

Sam

www.samthewriter.com

WRITE ON FIRE

WRITE ON FIRE!

“Zest. Gusto. How rarely one hears these two words used. How rarely do we see people living, or for that matter, creating by them. Yet if I were to name the most imortant items in a writer’s make-up, the things that shape his material and rush him along the road to where he wants to go, I could only warn him to look to his zest, see to his gusto. ”

- Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing

Ray Bradbury is by far one of my favorite authors. As a matter of a fact, if it were not for his amazing short stories, especially ‘The Illustrated Man’, I would quite possibly not be a writer today.

There are so many things to love about Ray’s stories; the way that he could grab a person (at any age)  and take him to distant planets of amazement, and terror, or staying right here on planet earth in its final minuets. I remember staying awake at night, hiding under my blanket with my pen light, reading Ray’s stories. As a writer, he is an amazing example of what it is that I would love to be most like.

As writer’s, we have the wonderful ability to literally change someone’s day, week, month, and possibly life.

Especially, now, in times of financial uncertainty, war on the horizon, and depression on the rise, PEOPLE NEED AN ESCAPE! People need a moment of  relief, a departure from stress, exodus from the land of the norm….and we, the writers, artists, have the incredible ability to offer that literary boat to Elsewhere.

Not only did I learn a lot from Ray about how to create an amazingly believable house of fiction, but I learned that writers must be accountable to the spirit of the Muse, or the creative art.  He often says things like “Write what you love” or “What that story that you want to read”.

We as writers can get so caught up in our endeavors to become financially supported by our writings, that it is easy to research the market and write what we hope they will buy. But, as I have heard Ray say in interviews, and in writing, “Don’t write for the Market, write for you.”  Write what you are passionate about. Write stories that you can not help but pick up your self time and time again.

Think about that perfect story that you are dying to read, but have not found yet…now do yourself a real favor and write it. Markets will come. Ha ha…if you write it, Markets will come. Have you looked at the 2009 Writer’s Market yet…it is three times bigger than my Bible! The Market is huge, there are people that love all kids of writing.

You’re a writer. Be a writer, a real writer, an honest writer. Write what you love. As Ray say, “Look to your zest, see to your gusto!” Write the stories that make you laugh while you type, stop at times to dab your tears, and give yourself a standing ovation when you finish. Make it count, every word, every sentence.

Get passionate about what you write, light yourself on fire and blaze a literary trail into your world.

Write, Write, Write!

SamTheWriter

www.SamTheWriter.com

Write Because You Must!

Why are you writing? Why do you pick up your pen, tap on your keyboard, or scribble in your notepad? When was the last time you asked yourself the question: Why do I do this? If you have never asked yourself this question, I encourage you to take a few minutes (right now) and ask yourself. If you really want to be a writer, you need to know the answer. Do you write because you want to be published? Do you write because you want to get paid? I have asked other writers this question and have gotten some interesting answers, but the answer that you should hear your inner most soul responding back should be something along the lines of, “Because I love it”. One day while I was in a coffee shop close to my house I was approached by a young lady who saw my writing and thought she would make herself comfortable at the table next to mine. She asked what I was writing and then told me that she also writes. “What do you write?” I asked “Oh, anything really. It depends on what I am feeling at the time.” She answered. “Do you have anything published?” I asked “No, but maybe someday.” “Have you submitted any of your work anywhere?” “No” “Researched any writing markets?” I questioned “No, never thought about it.” She said with a smile. “Let me ask you a question.” I started, “Why do you write?” She looked at me and looked at my laptop, she looked around the room, and twirled her curly black hair with her index finger and then looked at me, smiled and said, “Because I couldn’t image myself not writing.” That answer was awesome, that was the answer that rings loudly in the hearts of all writers. Writers write because they must, they can not imagine themselves void of pen and paper. They must write, because they must write. That young lady really encouraged me that day and I have thought about her several times since. I know first hand that many writers have part and full time jobs. They must make a living, because if you are like me (married with children) you can not afford to be a starving artist. I have to be accountable with my family and make sure that I am bringing home a paycheck week to week. So, I do what I don’t want to do and work a full time job, and then come home and stay up late writing, or wake up way too early to write before I go to work and clock in. Juggling around a full time work schedule, with being a father (mother), husband (wife), with all of the after school activities, it could be very easy to say, “I don’t have time to write” and get stuck in a cycle for the rest of your life. But, if you love to write, you must find the time, sacrifice, to get it done. If you plan on someday making a living, writing, then you must push yourself to be consistent with it even in the hardest times. If you love it, I encourage you to do what you can to find a way to allow it to support you. If you must write, write. But if you are so busy with life that you can not see yourself getting paid for your writing, don’t put the pen down- write, write, write, because you love it. Maybe no one will ever see your work, maybe you will never be published, maybe you don’t care to be; that is fine, just write and keep writing because YOU know that you are a WRITER and writers are who they are because they do what they must do…Write. I hope that you will discover ways to find time to get away to write the stories that you are dying to read. I also find it incredibly helpful to sneak off to a public library and read what others have so passionately written. Before you head off to school or work, look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I’m a writer who happens to work at McDonald’s, or Starbucks, or goes to school and Bla Bla University. I’m a writer who happens to be a full time manager at the bookstore or local deli. I am a writer who happens to work 40, 50, 60 hours a week…but no matter what I do to make a living, I know that I am a writer, and I’ll not stop writing.” Don’t get frustrated by the fact that you have a full time job. Don’t let your job steal your creative ability to fashion literary masterpieces on paper. Don’t let your occupation dictate who you are. Allow those things to be the financial tools by which you are given the home, computer, and materials, necessary to further the perfecting of who you are, as a writer. No matter what the future holds for you, Write, because you must! SamTheWriter signing off, www.samthewriter.com

Don’t Forget the Journals and Reviews

Today I spent several hours online researching online publications, and ’small press’ literary journals. These journals and reviews fly under the radar of my new writers. It is a real shame to miss out on these because they are very important in the literary world, especially online. There have been several times that I have been sitting in a coffee shop enjoying an Americano, and as I look around the room I see some young person busily scratching down the address or e-mail of a publishing company found in a Bible-thick writing Market guide.

Let me tell you that there is nothing wrong with that, I have all of the Writers Markets sitting all of four feet from my desk. But many of these young writers have no clue about the vast expanse of literary reviews that he or she can find in seconds on their computer and send off their short story, essay, or poem in a matter of minutes. In fact, many of these online reviews have submission systems. You just type in your information and cut and paste or upload your Word Doc; click send and it’s off.

I have had more stories and poems published in these little reviews than sending off to a book publishing company.

So if you are a young writer and you are dying to get your short story, essay, poem, or even a portion of you novel, check out the literary reviews and small presses. On the ‘Writers Help’ page on my (soon to be complete) website, I have a pretty good list for you to check out. Just click on any of the links and it will take you right to their submissions guidelines. Check it out www.SamTheWriter.com

Have a good night.

SamTheWriter,

signing off.

Prose – KEEP OUT: Writers Block

I stare onto a half empty worked piece of literary art. It is half worked, and half empty, lonely; a white lined dessert. I am at a loss. No inspiration cometh. My well is dry, my fountain dribbles bitter water.

It is in these times that I struggle for anything to help and find that the worlds O have been creating will not let me in – No Access Pass! The hundreds of characters that I have intimately inked hide themselves behind this mysterious door of my brain.

I look over the various stories I have passionately begun to write, the several novels I had started, some nearly finished. I know the outlines and try to move them along, yet they remain motionless. I am the Writer, yet my characters refuse to move; plot will not play out, conflict stands still, and characters avoid development.

Even tonight, a perfect night to stay awake all night and write – I am frozen, literally and literally. Creativity has given me ideas to build upon, but, at the same time, the door into my mental workshop stays tightly locked- keeping me out.

I am Blocked.

Writers Block. Why? Is my mind blocking my ability to write, or is creativity (as if it were a person) blocking my entering in to these worlds I need to enter into to finish these great stories.

It is as if the characters have locked the door. The created have conspired. Mutiny. The Created vs. Their Creator.

Or could it be that the stories have called to me, and knowing my present stress forbid me from telling their stories; they fearing mis-interpretation?

I will attempt to sleep and wake early. Maybe the quiet and darkness, the calmness and peacefulness of the early morning will bring to me the blessing of the Muse (or whatever creative spirit there is that sets artists aflame) which will help me to hear better.

Possibly then, I will fall asleep to the stresses of the busyness and wisdom of the world of selfish men and awaken into the realm of creative imagination, and then -only then, I will be given access into their worlds. Them: the characters, which live only in my sub conscience until their exodus to white, paper filled promised lands, will finally turn the key and open the door to me, knowing that I am finally fully listening.

www.samthewriter.com

A.T.M. Exercise : Wrong Alley

At This Moment exercise

9:06 am

Wrong Alley

My hands are warm, wet, not my own. My heart pounds, my breath is erratic. A blast of cold air hits my face. I am in an alley. The smell of maggot infested dumpsters makes my stomach turn.

Where am I? A flower pot smashes on the ground thirty feet away. I look up the side of the building. A shadowy head peers out from a window, four or five stories high. It vanishes. The sounds of angry traffic fills the small alley way. Looking down the long hallway of dumpsters, and darkly shadowed door entry ways I see the lights of a busy city street ahead.

The fear of going out into the busy street brings feelings of fear, but the feelings of fear are quickly eaten and digested with a overwhelming need to be far from here. I am hemmed in on all other sides by the alleys massive walls, lined with curious windows; like eyes, watching me, silently accusing me, waiting for the right moment to tell the dark doors to open up and swallow me inside.

I can’t remember how I got here. I was just home, sleeping in my bed, next to my wife, is Andrews Texas. Andrews has no hungry, accusing buildings, with staring windows.

I rub my hand through my hair. Wet, thick, sticky. I look at my hands, they are covered with dark syrup. As I examine them closer I feel the penetrating stare of the windows on me. I try to run, but stumble over something that sends me crashing to the ground.

Something large lies on the cold ground. I get on my knees and crawl over to inspect it. It is covered in the syrup-like… it is blood! It is a man! I push myself away from from him. Looking around the alley the windows seem to expand; wide-eyed and accusing me with a tangible silence.

I scurry to my feet. There is something shiny by my feet. A piece of metal: a knife. My hunting knife!

The silence is filled with chaos. The shadowy door ways start to creak, as if to open up, massive mouths ready to tear me apart and drag me into their basements.

The sounds of police sirens scream through the atmosphere. They are coming for me.

I could not have killed that man. I would have remembered. I don’t remember. Where am I? How did I get here? A metal door bursts open from behind me. I start running. Another door opens and darkness reaches out for me. I run as quickly as I can towards the traffic. Invisible pupils move, staying fix on me. I am an ant running from under the shadow of a fast shoe.

Red and blue lights ahead

Sirens blare.

“Here I am.” I scream. 100 yards, large slithering shadow tongues are on my heels. 70 yards, I wave my arms at the police car parked at the end of the alley. 50 yards, the windows turn into angry eyes with pointed brows, wrinkled brick forehead. All the doors fly open from around me, all the way to the street, like school lockers. 30 yards; I reach my hands out in front of me and gulp in the enough air to scream loud enough to wake the city.

The air is thick, like an invisible arm forcing its way down my throat. My head begins to spin. Am I falling? I twist around in slow motion. The windows seem to smile, brazenly.

The doors slam closed.

Two uniformed officers step into the alley and shine their flash lights.

The alley is lined with maggot infested dumpsters and shadowy entry ways. It is silent, almost too silent. The alleys massive walls are lined with curious windows; like eyes, sleeping now; fully satisfied.

The police officers turn and walk back to their patrol car. Wrong alley, they think.

A.T.M. Exercise : Lost In A Moment

A ‘This Moment’ Exercise

Saturday October 18, 2008

8:39pm

LOST IN A MOMENT

At this moment I am lying in a hot bubble bath. The leak in the faucet drips several drop a second. I left the door cracked so I can see my son, who is running a slight fever, watching Garfield on the TV. My Daughter sits on the floor coloring a princess in her Disney’s Princesses, coloring book.

Lying back in the tub, hot water and suds make an island beach around my stomach and chest, while tiny bubbles crackle around my bald head. I have to stretch my feet up the wall to submerge the upper half of my body. A compromise I willingly and consistently consider necessary.

My senses are becoming more alive; as if awaken by my quiet motionless rest in this liquid universe. I push my head down further into the tub; the water rises above my ears, filling my canals with thick hot warm, like warm honey. The heater kicks on; I feel the light vibration in the tiles of the wall.

A low, base sounding, mechanical humming confirms that the heat-breathing beast has awakened

from his slumber in the laundry room.

A tiny finger touches my forehead.

I open my eyes, my body flinches, cringes, and then becomes stiff, tightly contracting

in my icy wet crypt. I am submerged in freezing water. My daughter looks at me and giggles. “You’re taking forever.” She twirls back and forth, no longer in jeans and long sleeves, but in her pretty pink princess dress.

I suddenly remember. “Dang it!” Ray Bradbury and all the ink-scar characters that affliction the body of the Illustrated Man lay, frozen in time, in a watery grave on the bottom of my tub. I kick the drain release with my foot as I jump out of the cold water.

I grab the yellow towel hanging on the wall next to the sink and wrap it around my chicken-skinned nakedness. Yea, I know it’s the towel that Mom tells the kids not to use, but a towel for ‘looks’ is still a towel.

My daughter points at the puddle on the floor around my feet, I look at the puddle – it turns into a small pond feeding from the water accumulating on my body and running down in small streams. “Oooooo, Daddy, you did that on the floor.”

My son sleeps on the couch; Garfield has been replaced with a Japanese cartoon. I look at the atomic clock that hangs on the wall above my desk. It reads: 2:47am.

“You took for-ever, daddy.” My princess says again with a smile and sleepy eyes.

“Yep” I say, smiling back.

I slip my underwear on. Put the kids in their beds, kiss their soft foreheads, and go to my room. But I’m not tired.

My TV Ate My Homework

Today I had planned to write for a solid four hours. I pinned in my whole day last night:

1. 6am- Wake up, make coffee, take a shower, read Psalms 141 then, dissect The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot, and sip down the last cup of coffee while topping my morning off with a short story from In The Arms Of Angels, by Joan Wester Anderson.

2. 7:20am – Wake up my son and daughter, help my wife, Diane, get them fed, dressed, and dropped off at school by 8am

3. 8:30am – Go to the YMCA. 1 hour – cardio, 1 hour split between chest, abs, and upper back.

4. 11:00am – Lunch with wife

5. 11:30- 3:30pm – write, write, write

6. 3:45pm- Pick up children ……

The day was perfectly planned, al the way till 10:30pm, ending in bed with my wife.

Did it happen this way?

Nope

Why?

Two Words: Creativity Killer

I have talked about things that hinder our creative process, but I want to expose a vampire, or creativity leach, which longs to feed on the artists ability to create. It is the natural enemy to the Muse, and although it can be helpful, it’s in the misuse or abuse that makes it so harmful to your creative-self.

TELEVISION: It ate my schedule

There are always going to be a reasons to turn the TV on. Today I wanted turned it on right about before I got to number 3 on my list of morning goals. I had a moment to check the headline news, while my wife was getting her workout clothes together. While watching the news, there was a story about a man who hid 2 pipe bombs in his stepson’s girlfriend’s house. The story was crazy, and I was drawn in. Then there was another story about a man in California who killed himself, as a result of losing everything with his stocks. After that, they interviewed specialists in the area of suicide who said there have been several suicides over the last few weeks, directly linked to the economic crash.

Story after story, and I was sucked into it all.

At one point I went to comment to my wife about a story we were watching when I found that I was the only one watching. She was cuddled up with a throw pillow, sleeping. I looked at the atomic clock by my computer- 2:57pm. “Oh crap!” I heard myself say. I jumped up and was about to wake my wife when the thought came to me: “I can wake her now, but what good would it do when it comes to our work out, or regaining my writing time?” None. She had to work at the Birth Care Center (labor and delivery nurse) from 7pm till 7:30am. She needed the sleep; I just blew my morning away.

Learning opportunity for me in all of this:

There is something showing on the television at all times, for everyone. Although it can be nice to sit and enjoy a favorite program, a writer can not afford to sit in front of the tube too long. There have been many nights that I have had it in mind to write a certain number of words, an article, essay, short story, etc. and could not make my hand push that little red power button in a timely manner. Before I know it, it’s 2am, and I am too tired to write, and sucked dry of any creative juices.

A writer must write to survive. A writer must spend quality time, daily, with his or her pen and pad (or key board). The writers that Make It in the industry are the ones that Do It at home. I have mentioned before that someone once said, “80% of succeeding and getting the job done is showing up” To get your Work In Progress (WIP) published you first have to finish your WIP. To finished it you have to show up and write. The television is not the only monster out there, there are many things that can steal your creativity.

It is your job to see your writing as -well, just that – your job:

You have to show up.

You have to sit and work

Be mentally clocked in

Don’t mess around while your on the clock

Don’t milk that time.

Don’t spend too much time in the break room

Remember, I am not saying that the TV is evil. All I am saying is keep your focus on your craft.

Don’t let re-runs of the X-Files or The Twilight Zone eat your sci-fi novel. Keep C.S.I. and Cold Case from killing your Mystery Novel. Get your essays, articles, and non-fiction pieces out of the mouth of the morning news.

When your Muse wakes you in the middle of the night asking to see what you did created with the tools she gave you, don’t be caught saying something stupid like, “Sorry my TV ate my homework.”

Write, Write, Write!

SamTheWriter,

signing off