#RiseOfTheWriters :2013-2014 The Year of The Writer


#RiseOfTheWriters 2013-2014  

We were excited to hear words very similar to these come from Quentin Tarantino at the beginning of the year. This year has very much been a year for writers. What’s more exciting, is that the rest 2013, and looking into 2014, it only appears to get better and better for the Writer.

#RiseOfTheWriters – It’s a social movement. A call to writer’s by writer’s. A move to encourage writers to be who they were made to be. A move to share encouragement, to motivate each other to write and submit, write and submit, write and submit. There are industries, literary journals, trade journals, editors of magazines, news groups, greeting card publishers, filmmakers, and Publishing Houses, all asking for new materials, new writers, new ideas. It’s time now for you to answer.

There are great writers out there. We read their works and see their new books advertized all the time. Yet the more I travel collecting stories and sharing stories; the more I connect with quiet-coffeehouse-writers and secret writers the more I’ve met many many prolific writers. These are truly passionate writers, gifted, experienced in the literary form.

I’ve had the great pleasure to sit down with many wonderful writers who find themselves writing for so many different reasons. Some write because they cannot stop writing. Some are so passionate about their literary masterpieces that they cannot dream of doing anything else. Most have other full time jobs, but are compelled to write. Some no longer see themselves as ‘A Writer’ although they find themselves scribbling on breaks, late at night, or just because.

These Writers may not be published. Some were published years ago. Some stopping trying to have their works put in print because of a few rejections. Yet, they write. Why? Because they are Writers and Writers must Write, it is in our blood.

However the Moment of the Writer is here… The Planet Needs You!

#RiseOfTheWriters is a call to Writers to awaken to this Moment. This Moment is ours. There’s magic in this Moment. There’s a need in this Moment. There’s an open door into the infinite in this Moment. This Moment is mine, it’s yours.

There’s a Moment that has opened up to us Writers. A Moment where our Muses’ are bidding us to come to the dance floor again. To dance between the pages and create Moments for those – the Readers – who are calling out for a Moment of relief, a Moment of escape.

#RiseOfTheWriters is a networking of SuperHeroes. Those REAL superheroes who, like Gods, create Characters, places in time, planets, other species. Like Gods, creating words in sentences, phrases, stanzas, paragraphs, articles, and poems which reach deeply into the souls of mankind and release emotions.

#RiseOfTheWriters is the signal light in the night, the shout from the front lines, the CHARGE to you authors, journalists, poets, song writers, and Lovers of the Muse to pick up your pens and keyboards and start romancing your Muse– to start making Love to your Muse to start filling pages.

Where are you Greeting Card Poets, Song Writers, and Copywriters? Where are you Novelists, Screenwriters, short, flash, micro-fiction Aficionados? Where’s you Fiction-lit, Creative Non-fiction, Horror, Scifii, Romantics, Thriller, Mystery, and Inspirational Writers?

#RiseOfTheWriters is an invitation from this Writer to you, Writer. An invitation to get completely drunk and wasted on the intoxicants of your literary Love, your Muse– and make something happen. Will you lose it with me? Will you write and submit like men and women on fire? Like Titans, who have just remembered who they are, and Awakening to themselves again?

This is your Moment. This is our Hour. This is a call to an Awakening of the Literary Kind. To join with Writers all over the world – to encourage – to share knowledge (of industry needs, proper formatting, submission tips etc.)  – kind works – motivation to keep writing and submitting and highlights of successful moments?

I’m In.

Are You?



Let me know your in. What’s your passion? What do you write? HashTag #RiseOfTheWriters and soundoff with what you do and lets know that You’re In. I’d like to be an encouragement to you and will need your’s as well.

My Twitter is @SamuelWConnelly find me – help me find you.


HashTag (#) #RiseOfTheWriters to share What you do, and share highlights, and connect with other writers from around the world.


“ @SamuelWConnelly: I am poetry, fiction, short fiction, horror, thriller, scifi, etc. I’m IN!!! #RiseOfTheWriters ”

Are You In Need of help (Writing or Industry Questions) then HashTag (#) #Fight2Write with your question- and Writers with the answers will respond – just be ready to offer the knowledge that you may have to help another Writer.


“ @SamuelWConnelly: I’m looking for a place to submit my short dark fiction ‘ArborDay’ 4,032 Word? Who should I submit to? #Fight@Write ‘


“@SamuelWConnelly: I need help formatting my story (or poetry collection,etc.) #Fight2Write


“@SamuelWConnelly: This Writer’s Block is freakin kicking my butt. Help #Fight2Write

There are many literary journals, editors, publishers, filmmakers, businesses, publishing houses, greeting card publishers, trade journals, etc., that are looking for your literary masterpiece.

And with so many wars, the financial, political, & religious fights, and humanities need for an momentary escape; a mental vacation from all the crazy– your particular ability is being called upon.

Let’s gear up – pen in hand…and fly.


Signing Out — but not off

“Write like you believe that you’re saving the Planet”

                  – Me

Do you have a Writer’s Page? Please share the link.

I’ll be Highlighting other Writer’s Pages, Blogs, Twitters, FaceBooks, etc. too.

As many resources as possible so that we have maximum opportunity to succeed.

You can also find my My Mistress Muse Poetry Blog here.

I am having www.SamTheWriter.com updated too so it’s not just about me, but filled with resources for Writers and Connecting Writers with Writers, editors, publishers, literary agents, and a large collection of places to submit your various works.

You Can also find and connect with me on Facebook or Twitter here.


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.