Thursday, 8 April 2010
Friday, 14 December 2007
Monday, 16 April 2007
Writing exercise
Lisa Yee, an American YA author, is running a writing competition where you are required to tell a story in 25 words or numbers or fewer. Give your story a beginning, middle and an end, she says. Also add pathos, drama and/or humor and get extra points.
I think it’s a good exercise help writers write as tightly as possible, especially children’s writers and poets. So I tried it out. Here’s my entry:
Bam! Mommy 4ls. face w@. W8. W8. 911?
Wanna try it?
Career advice I wish someone had given me when I began my career
I wish someone suggested when I first launched my writing career that I start in the newsroom. I’ve found journalism to be boot camp for any kind of writer, even if they plan to write short stories and novels in the long-term.
Since I began working as a journalist, I’ve gotten into the habit of delivering publishable material everyday, rain or shine. No one cares whether I’m inspired, tired or suffering from writer’s block. And even if my first draft is a stinking bundle of tripe, I have to rewrite, edit and polish until it’s publishable.
EVERYDAY!
So I’ve gained a lot of discipline about the writing process, and gain confidence as you learn to deliver under extreme pressure.
I think the training also gives a writer a half-way decent chance of building believable characters, because you have learnt how to sort out credible stories from PR fluff and outright lies.
You’ll know if there’s something dodgy about the character. If this character you created gave you a lead for a story, would you believe him/her? Would you follow it up? Would your publication agree to publish it, thus putting its rep on the line as the purveyor of truth?
A journalist also meets a lot of interesting people (future character studies), goes interesting places (future settings) while also building a readership.
By the time your books comes out, there are readers who’ve heard of you and take you seriously, and your writing career is just seen as branching into something else, not starting from scratch.
I think it’s a good exercise help writers write as tightly as possible, especially children’s writers and poets. So I tried it out. Here’s my entry:
Bam! Mommy 4ls. face w@. W8. W8. 911?
Wanna try it?
Career advice I wish someone had given me when I began my career
I wish someone suggested when I first launched my writing career that I start in the newsroom. I’ve found journalism to be boot camp for any kind of writer, even if they plan to write short stories and novels in the long-term.
Since I began working as a journalist, I’ve gotten into the habit of delivering publishable material everyday, rain or shine. No one cares whether I’m inspired, tired or suffering from writer’s block. And even if my first draft is a stinking bundle of tripe, I have to rewrite, edit and polish until it’s publishable.
EVERYDAY!
So I’ve gained a lot of discipline about the writing process, and gain confidence as you learn to deliver under extreme pressure.
I think the training also gives a writer a half-way decent chance of building believable characters, because you have learnt how to sort out credible stories from PR fluff and outright lies.
You’ll know if there’s something dodgy about the character. If this character you created gave you a lead for a story, would you believe him/her? Would you follow it up? Would your publication agree to publish it, thus putting its rep on the line as the purveyor of truth?
A journalist also meets a lot of interesting people (future character studies), goes interesting places (future settings) while also building a readership.
By the time your books comes out, there are readers who’ve heard of you and take you seriously, and your writing career is just seen as branching into something else, not starting from scratch.
Friday, 13 April 2007
Snapshots of my Soul
Snapshots Of My Soul
The shadow of God's hand
Rests upon mountains of blue,
As angels guard this land
On slopes pastoral and true -
This is a snapshot in my soul.
A regatta of clouds
Sail across the azure sky,
Inspired by the crowds
That wish they too could fly
To an image in my mind.
A sea breeze whispering
Sweet nothings in my ear;
Rising waves come crashing
On rugged rocks so near
It brings music to my heart.
A walk amongst the penguins;
Tiger Eyes slip out my palm;
Dawn begins after midnight swims
In oceans peaceful and calm -
All pictures for me to keep.
And now, I must get back
To a life of routine;
And if again I lose track
Of my purpose and dream
I'll remember the snaps.
Snapshots of; a seashell,
Of dancing, singing Cape Coons;
Of cliffs jutting out to quell
Rampant waves and baboons -
All of them - safe, tucked away.
When Life rears an ugly head
I will not falter, nor fall;
For in my mind I will spread
A growing album of all
The snapshots of my soul.
© 2002 Debbie Joubert
***note: this was written at the beginning of 2002, after a trip to (guess) Cape Town. Although I wasn't born in CT, I regard it as home. We drove down in Dec. 2001 after an extremely bad year; I had last been in Western Province in the mid eighties and this was my first trip back. Going back was pure therapy. This is one of my few "lighter" poems.
Feedback and critique will be welcome. Thank you.
The shadow of God's hand
Rests upon mountains of blue,
As angels guard this land
On slopes pastoral and true -
This is a snapshot in my soul.
A regatta of clouds
Sail across the azure sky,
Inspired by the crowds
That wish they too could fly
To an image in my mind.
A sea breeze whispering
Sweet nothings in my ear;
Rising waves come crashing
On rugged rocks so near
It brings music to my heart.
A walk amongst the penguins;
Tiger Eyes slip out my palm;
Dawn begins after midnight swims
In oceans peaceful and calm -
All pictures for me to keep.
And now, I must get back
To a life of routine;
And if again I lose track
Of my purpose and dream
I'll remember the snaps.
Snapshots of; a seashell,
Of dancing, singing Cape Coons;
Of cliffs jutting out to quell
Rampant waves and baboons -
All of them - safe, tucked away.
When Life rears an ugly head
I will not falter, nor fall;
For in my mind I will spread
A growing album of all
The snapshots of my soul.
© 2002 Debbie Joubert
***note: this was written at the beginning of 2002, after a trip to (guess) Cape Town. Although I wasn't born in CT, I regard it as home. We drove down in Dec. 2001 after an extremely bad year; I had last been in Western Province in the mid eighties and this was my first trip back. Going back was pure therapy. This is one of my few "lighter" poems.
Feedback and critique will be welcome. Thank you.
TWO KINDS
[There's a line that goes, "Two kinds of trouble in this world Living... dying". (Lindsey Buckingham)]
our destiny
we are born, we die
our choice
to laugh or cry
he conforms
to please a crowd
she rebels
to free her spirit
some rot
sink into the mire
others live
and embrace passion
they lose
a sense of self
we win
freedom of spirit
you hate
a caged soul
i love
and fulfil a promise
* * * * * *
Copyright © March 2002 FIONA KRISCH.
our destiny
we are born, we die
our choice
to laugh or cry
he conforms
to please a crowd
she rebels
to free her spirit
some rot
sink into the mire
others live
and embrace passion
they lose
a sense of self
we win
freedom of spirit
you hate
a caged soul
i love
and fulfil a promise
* * * * * *
Copyright © March 2002 FIONA KRISCH.
Thursday, 12 April 2007
THE GHOST BEHIND
And so he follows
But sometimes he leads in a rage
Other times
He's a story for another page
There are days
When he's right there with me
And nights
When I know he will leave me
He's two people
It seems, but actually one man
And whose fault?
Who knows? But I do what I can
And so I see
That his manner is crippled
He drowns
In a glass, the dark surface rippled
Copyright Fiona Krisch May 2002.
But sometimes he leads in a rage
Other times
He's a story for another page
There are days
When he's right there with me
And nights
When I know he will leave me
He's two people
It seems, but actually one man
And whose fault?
Who knows? But I do what I can
And so I see
That his manner is crippled
He drowns
In a glass, the dark surface rippled
Copyright Fiona Krisch May 2002.
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
Flying
Let's go flying, you say
As the words fly
From fingers to keyboard to screen
Then sub-editor says fix this, rewrite that
And down you go
Into the reality of what is
Your story.
You cut and paste
Tighten and polish
Until the words flow smoothly
And once again you fly
The story ready for publication
Proud of a job well-done
“Dear writer, I don’t agree with you
On point A, B and C.”
I can live with that, you say.
Dear writer, I think you suck
And your words should never
Have made it to print.
Can’t please everyone, you say
But deep down you wish
You could.
Dear writer, I loved your article
published on Magazine X
I’d like to reprint it on Magazine Y
Would you consider writing a column for us too?
Once again you have wings
Let’s go flying.
Footnote: The poem was inspired by dark but vague criticism from a reader of my work. I wrote a story that my editors told me was very good. We worked hard on it to polish it, and it made lead for the publication.
Then one reader commented by saying that he did not go beyond the first sentence. ( He did not say why).
It make me feel crappy, especially as I started out feeling particularly proud of the story. I started wondering if I could have gotten the facts wrong, if he disagreed with the viewpoint provided by my sources, or whatever. Anyway, that sinking feeling that came from the criticism inspired me to write the poem.
As the words fly
From fingers to keyboard to screen
Then sub-editor says fix this, rewrite that
And down you go
Into the reality of what is
Your story.
You cut and paste
Tighten and polish
Until the words flow smoothly
And once again you fly
The story ready for publication
Proud of a job well-done
“Dear writer, I don’t agree with you
On point A, B and C.”
I can live with that, you say.
Dear writer, I think you suck
And your words should never
Have made it to print.
Can’t please everyone, you say
But deep down you wish
You could.
Dear writer, I loved your article
published on Magazine X
I’d like to reprint it on Magazine Y
Would you consider writing a column for us too?
Once again you have wings
Let’s go flying.
Footnote: The poem was inspired by dark but vague criticism from a reader of my work. I wrote a story that my editors told me was very good. We worked hard on it to polish it, and it made lead for the publication.
Then one reader commented by saying that he did not go beyond the first sentence. ( He did not say why).
It make me feel crappy, especially as I started out feeling particularly proud of the story. I started wondering if I could have gotten the facts wrong, if he disagreed with the viewpoint provided by my sources, or whatever. Anyway, that sinking feeling that came from the criticism inspired me to write the poem.
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
Child of my heart
I know sometimes you wonder
If I love you as deeply
As a mother loves a child of her body
The short answer is
Yes, I do
The longer answer is this:
You may not be the child of my body
Blood of my blood
But you are the child of my heart
Mine in all the ways that count
I may not have carried you
Borne you after nine months
But I chose to care for you
Grew to love you
Child of my heart
There are times when I wonder
If I would love you more deeply
If you were a child of my body
Blood of my blood
The short answer is
No, I wouldn’t
The longer answer is this:
As you are not of my body
Blood of my blood
I know what my life would be like
If you were not mine to love
Empty, barren
I thank God everyday
That you are mine to raise
Each day you are with me
Is a blessing from God
Child of my heart
If I love you as deeply
As a mother loves a child of her body
The short answer is
Yes, I do
The longer answer is this:
You may not be the child of my body
Blood of my blood
But you are the child of my heart
Mine in all the ways that count
I may not have carried you
Borne you after nine months
But I chose to care for you
Grew to love you
Child of my heart
There are times when I wonder
If I would love you more deeply
If you were a child of my body
Blood of my blood
The short answer is
No, I wouldn’t
The longer answer is this:
As you are not of my body
Blood of my blood
I know what my life would be like
If you were not mine to love
Empty, barren
I thank God everyday
That you are mine to raise
Each day you are with me
Is a blessing from God
Child of my heart
Monday, 2 April 2007
My father's love
I knew
With unquestionable certainty
that he loved us.
We could take our battles, big or small
To him
And like a warrior
He came to the rescue
He lived away from is family
Working for a better life
Worked his fingers to the bone
Home every Friday
After a four-hour drive
Bearing little gifts
You could set your clock by him
He listened
When you wanted to talk
Taught, argued and encouraged
He used reason
Other times discipline
Always under-laid by the certainty
Of his love
Now I look at him
Sick, tired, waiting for death
I miss the man he used to be
The vibrant, energetic man
He used to be
We speak on the phone
As much as his health allows
I visit him every weekend
Spend time with him
Still I miss him
The man he used to be
Is fading away everyday
A shadow left behind
My heart shouts: “Why him!”
Why not someone else father
Someone who did not love his family?
I want to reverse the clock
Bring back the man my father used to be
Ask one more question; argue one more time
I miss my friend
But now is the time, to give my father the same love
And support he gave his family
So I sit on the edge of the bed
Tell him one more story, call forth one more laugh.
I want him to know
With unquestionable certainty
That his was a life well-spent
That his family
Loves him just as deeply.
This poem was written on the 9 May 2002, about a month before my father passed away. On that same day, I also wrote an essay about my father, his illness and impending death. I think, that was the day I came to terms with the fact that my father was dying and began the grieving process.
With unquestionable certainty
that he loved us.
We could take our battles, big or small
To him
And like a warrior
He came to the rescue
He lived away from is family
Working for a better life
Worked his fingers to the bone
Home every Friday
After a four-hour drive
Bearing little gifts
You could set your clock by him
He listened
When you wanted to talk
Taught, argued and encouraged
He used reason
Other times discipline
Always under-laid by the certainty
Of his love
Now I look at him
Sick, tired, waiting for death
I miss the man he used to be
The vibrant, energetic man
He used to be
We speak on the phone
As much as his health allows
I visit him every weekend
Spend time with him
Still I miss him
The man he used to be
Is fading away everyday
A shadow left behind
My heart shouts: “Why him!”
Why not someone else father
Someone who did not love his family?
I want to reverse the clock
Bring back the man my father used to be
Ask one more question; argue one more time
I miss my friend
But now is the time, to give my father the same love
And support he gave his family
So I sit on the edge of the bed
Tell him one more story, call forth one more laugh.
I want him to know
With unquestionable certainty
That his was a life well-spent
That his family
Loves him just as deeply.
This poem was written on the 9 May 2002, about a month before my father passed away. On that same day, I also wrote an essay about my father, his illness and impending death. I think, that was the day I came to terms with the fact that my father was dying and began the grieving process.
Sunday, 1 April 2007
Exerpt from Sam's diary: Entry from 9 February 2003
I'm still going through my old diaries, and in addition to some of the poetry I've put up here, I found this entry:
"My greatest regret is that at 36, I have not accomplished the most important goals of my life. I have allowed myself to be sidetracked by things that are not terribly important to me; things that will not take me forward on my life’s journey.
I have however noticed that destiny periodically reasserts itself and similar choices are presented to me so I can get out of the rut. It's up to me to use these opportunities to effect a new direction in my life and to achieve my life’s goals."
.........................................................
In the four years since I made this entry, some things remain the same. I still feel like there's a lot to do and not enough time to do it. But I am slowly learning to focus on today rather than on goals. Take the opportunities that are offered now, and see where they take me.
I still believe that destiny does reassert itself, so whatever opportunities I missed the first time are likely to be presented again. Maybe they will be packaged differently, maybe I won't easily recognise them for what they are, but come again they will. It's a comforting thought.
"My greatest regret is that at 36, I have not accomplished the most important goals of my life. I have allowed myself to be sidetracked by things that are not terribly important to me; things that will not take me forward on my life’s journey.
I have however noticed that destiny periodically reasserts itself and similar choices are presented to me so I can get out of the rut. It's up to me to use these opportunities to effect a new direction in my life and to achieve my life’s goals."
.........................................................
In the four years since I made this entry, some things remain the same. I still feel like there's a lot to do and not enough time to do it. But I am slowly learning to focus on today rather than on goals. Take the opportunities that are offered now, and see where they take me.
I still believe that destiny does reassert itself, so whatever opportunities I missed the first time are likely to be presented again. Maybe they will be packaged differently, maybe I won't easily recognise them for what they are, but come again they will. It's a comforting thought.
Friday, 30 March 2007
Two more poems from Sam
Some of you have read some of the poetry I'm putting up here. Enjoy.
Cheers,
Sam
...................................................................................................
1. I have decided
I have decided
To ban all well intentioned resolutions
No more
New Year and
Birthday resolutions
No list of ten things to do
By the end of the year
Or before I die
I have decided
Diets and gym memberships are out
Somehow I end eating more food than normal
Swamped by guilt for paying a gym
I’m not using.
I have decided
No twelve week exercise plan
That leaves my knees rattling
No arbitrary deadlines to get published.
Chuck all shoulds and have tos
To focus on what is and can be.
This ban does not mean
That I’m giving up on life
Or getting lazy
This ban does not mean
That I’m planning
To live without drive or purpose
I have decided
To live well, work hard
Say what I want to say
Take care of my body
Spirit and soul
Spend time with people I like
But always, always
Remember that
Today is the only day I can be sure of
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
2. African woman
Skeletal and defeated
Staring out of dead, hopeless eyes
That is not who I am.
Hunger, war and pain-ravaged
Carrying an assault rifle
That’s only part of the story.
Half-naked, sitting on uncovered soil
Baby sucking on a dry sagging breast
The pictures don’t tell the full truth.
The other side of me:
Is a tall, well-fed woman
Living life as best as she can
I love and I hate
I experience joy, stress, PMS
I laugh, cry, dance and sing
I am more like you than you thought.
I get bored, work too hard
Argue with my partner
About who’ll take out the dust bin.
I give birth, raise a family
And like you
I hope for the best for my children.
Shed the stereotype
Of who I’m supposed to be
See me for who I am.
Disregard my otherness
And you will see
I am more like you than you thought
I love and I hate
I dream and I plan
I experience joy, stress, PMS
I laugh, cry, dance and sing.
I love, mate, raise a family
And like you
I hope that my children
Will have a better life than what I had.
Cheers,
Sam
...................................................................................................
1. I have decided
I have decided
To ban all well intentioned resolutions
No more
New Year and
Birthday resolutions
No list of ten things to do
By the end of the year
Or before I die
I have decided
Diets and gym memberships are out
Somehow I end eating more food than normal
Swamped by guilt for paying a gym
I’m not using.
I have decided
No twelve week exercise plan
That leaves my knees rattling
No arbitrary deadlines to get published.
Chuck all shoulds and have tos
To focus on what is and can be.
This ban does not mean
That I’m giving up on life
Or getting lazy
This ban does not mean
That I’m planning
To live without drive or purpose
I have decided
To live well, work hard
Say what I want to say
Take care of my body
Spirit and soul
Spend time with people I like
But always, always
Remember that
Today is the only day I can be sure of
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
2. African woman
Skeletal and defeated
Staring out of dead, hopeless eyes
That is not who I am.
Hunger, war and pain-ravaged
Carrying an assault rifle
That’s only part of the story.
Half-naked, sitting on uncovered soil
Baby sucking on a dry sagging breast
The pictures don’t tell the full truth.
The other side of me:
Is a tall, well-fed woman
Living life as best as she can
I love and I hate
I experience joy, stress, PMS
I laugh, cry, dance and sing
I am more like you than you thought.
I get bored, work too hard
Argue with my partner
About who’ll take out the dust bin.
I give birth, raise a family
And like you
I hope for the best for my children.
Shed the stereotype
Of who I’m supposed to be
See me for who I am.
Disregard my otherness
And you will see
I am more like you than you thought
I love and I hate
I dream and I plan
I experience joy, stress, PMS
I laugh, cry, dance and sing.
I love, mate, raise a family
And like you
I hope that my children
Will have a better life than what I had.
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
Just... breathe!
This will be a very short post.
The best advice I have ever received came from a dear friend of mine: "Just breathe. When life is tough and the world around you is bleak - remember to breathe."
To Gilli, who lost her father just three weeks ago - hugs and an extra dose of oxygen to you.
To Sam, who is one of the most courageous women I have had the pleasure to cyber-meet - Kudus to you, you are an inspiration... but even muses need to breathe.
To Fi, who knows how to overdose on stress - take a moment to relax and breathe.
To everyone else - remember to breathe, even when you are up against a brick wall.
All together now: BREATHE!
The best advice I have ever received came from a dear friend of mine: "Just breathe. When life is tough and the world around you is bleak - remember to breathe."
To Gilli, who lost her father just three weeks ago - hugs and an extra dose of oxygen to you.
To Sam, who is one of the most courageous women I have had the pleasure to cyber-meet - Kudus to you, you are an inspiration... but even muses need to breathe.
To Fi, who knows how to overdose on stress - take a moment to relax and breathe.
To everyone else - remember to breathe, even when you are up against a brick wall.
All together now: BREATHE!
Wednesday, 14 March 2007
Youth
Youth is
A smooth, unlined face
No anti-ageing cream required.
A slim and supple body
No creaking bones and aching limbs.
Youth is
A chest full of treasures.
Youth is
Clothes chosen for cool factor
Not to hide bulges and sagging skin.
Love, life and career
A future full of promise
Youth is
A box full of shining treasures.
Youth is
The beginning of career success
Be anything, do anything
Work hard, play harder
Spend moolah as fast as you make it.
Youth is
The 3 Cs: Cash, car and a cellphone.
Youth is
Falling in love
In lust at the drop of a hat
Enjoying every heartbreaking moment
No calluses on the heart yet
Youth is
Not being ready to meet your soul mate yet.
Youth is
A trunk full of possibilities
Treasures and dross
To be cleaned and shined
Their real value yet to be discovered
Youth is
Assuming you’ll live long enough
To unwrap the hidden gifts in the trunk.
A smooth, unlined face
No anti-ageing cream required.
A slim and supple body
No creaking bones and aching limbs.
Youth is
A chest full of treasures.
Youth is
Clothes chosen for cool factor
Not to hide bulges and sagging skin.
Love, life and career
A future full of promise
Youth is
A box full of shining treasures.
Youth is
The beginning of career success
Be anything, do anything
Work hard, play harder
Spend moolah as fast as you make it.
Youth is
The 3 Cs: Cash, car and a cellphone.
Youth is
Falling in love
In lust at the drop of a hat
Enjoying every heartbreaking moment
No calluses on the heart yet
Youth is
Not being ready to meet your soul mate yet.
Youth is
A trunk full of possibilities
Treasures and dross
To be cleaned and shined
Their real value yet to be discovered
Youth is
Assuming you’ll live long enough
To unwrap the hidden gifts in the trunk.
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
The sun on my face
I have worked hard,
Focusing solely on achieving goals
Too afraid to look up;
Too afraid to stare failure in the face.
Never feeling
The sun on my face.
Writing endlessly
Too afraid to submit
Too afraid of rejection
Hoping to get good enough
To be published.... someday.
Too afraid to see
The foundation being laid
To build a writing career.
Too afraid to feel
The hail and rain of rejection
Instead of the sun of acceptance
Warming my face.
“Bang!”
The fruit of my labour hit me on the head.
I couldn’t help but look up
Despite the fear of rejection.
A warm rain of acceptance,
From editors and readers
Taking me places
I didn’t even dream of going.
The writing journey is still long
Hard work and perseverance is needed.
But this morning
I am looking up, without fear.
The sun warming up my face
It’s a wonderful feeling.
It's worth the blood, sweat and blows
writing endlessly
Taking the blows of rejection on the chin
When I look up.
I wrote this poem the day I found out I had been nominated for an award. I hope it encourages other writers to persevere. I have a sneaky feeling i'm a seriously bad poet, and I realise is no form or structure to this poem, but I felt it was an appropriate form of self-expression in this particular instance.
Sam
Focusing solely on achieving goals
Too afraid to look up;
Too afraid to stare failure in the face.
Never feeling
The sun on my face.
Writing endlessly
Too afraid to submit
Too afraid of rejection
Hoping to get good enough
To be published.... someday.
Too afraid to see
The foundation being laid
To build a writing career.
Too afraid to feel
The hail and rain of rejection
Instead of the sun of acceptance
Warming my face.
“Bang!”
The fruit of my labour hit me on the head.
I couldn’t help but look up
Despite the fear of rejection.
A warm rain of acceptance,
From editors and readers
Taking me places
I didn’t even dream of going.
The writing journey is still long
Hard work and perseverance is needed.
But this morning
I am looking up, without fear.
The sun warming up my face
It’s a wonderful feeling.
It's worth the blood, sweat and blows
writing endlessly
Taking the blows of rejection on the chin
When I look up.
I wrote this poem the day I found out I had been nominated for an award. I hope it encourages other writers to persevere. I have a sneaky feeling i'm a seriously bad poet, and I realise is no form or structure to this poem, but I felt it was an appropriate form of self-expression in this particular instance.
Sam
Thursday, 1 March 2007
Across the sea, a poem by Sam
I have a warm and friendly feeling
As I think of you today.
I wish that we could visit
But you are many miles away.
Separated by the ocean
But still close to my heart.
Your phone calls bring you near
Through the miles and the sea.
Still your face I want to see
For your soul shines through.
Your friendship become most dear
Everytime we speak.
I wish we could visit
But you are many miles away.
So I will pick up the phone
To reach you through across the miles and the sea.
This poem is dedicated to my friend, Susan Davies, who immigrated a number of years ago. I haven't seen Susan in 11 years, but when we speak on the phone, I still feel like the she's good friend I used to giggle with in my youth.
As I think of you today.
I wish that we could visit
But you are many miles away.
Separated by the ocean
But still close to my heart.
Your phone calls bring you near
Through the miles and the sea.
Still your face I want to see
For your soul shines through.
Your friendship become most dear
Everytime we speak.
I wish we could visit
But you are many miles away.
So I will pick up the phone
To reach you through across the miles and the sea.
This poem is dedicated to my friend, Susan Davies, who immigrated a number of years ago. I haven't seen Susan in 11 years, but when we speak on the phone, I still feel like the she's good friend I used to giggle with in my youth.
Tuesday, 27 February 2007
Introducing Sam, Warrior woman
In my last entry I promised to explain why I’m called Sam. The full avatar is Samurai.
Some years ago, I belonged to Women at Work, an online forum which aims to provide support to small business owners or women who aspire to do so. One of the forum members had difficulty typing my real name because her computer kept correcting her spelling and offering Samurai as an option.
My fellow forum members decided that the name suited me, as I have the temperament of a noble warrior, and so the moniker stuck.[Samurai= a term for the military nobility in pre-industrial Japan. Source: Wikipedia].
Only, Samurai is such a mouthful, so Sam it is.
Sometimes when I face life’s challenges, including rejection from publishers, I forget that I’m supposed to be a warrior. I just want to lie down, close my eyes and wait for the world to go away.
Then I receive an email from one of my fellow-bloggers, who refer to me as Sam, and I’m not just any old writer. I’m a warrior woman too. And a warrior woman does not give up.
The basics
I’m a woman, daughter, mother, sister, aunt and friend. I work as a journalist, aspire to write books and work too hard to make the latter possible. I spend a lot of time online, talking to friends and trying to learn the business and craft of writing. I also garden, read a lot of fiction and watch some TV.
I live in an old house in Johannesburg, and every so often I think that I should be doing something to renovate it. Then I paint a room or something, decide I’m too exhausted to continue and get back to the rest of my daily activities until inspiration strikes again.
Dreams
Sometimes I wonder if being working as a writer was the right career choice for me. I would definitely be making more money, and suffering less rejection, if I worked as an accountant or lawyer. But I know that deep down I’m doing what I’m supposed to do with my work life, despite the challenges.
Of course, if I’m meant to be a professional writer, one would think I would get the combination of writing well and making a living at it right, wouldn’t one? Yet, here I am at almost 40, not yet rich, not yet famous, and still battling to break in. Note the yet - I am ever the optimist.
I think part of issue is that I [mostly] enjoy being a writer. I also keep faith that my dreams will come true, and that I will place my books with publishers, and they will be read by enough people to make the effort worthwhile. I know I’m looking for a needle in the haystack, but what would be the fun [ and challenge ] if success came too easily?
Some years ago, I belonged to Women at Work, an online forum which aims to provide support to small business owners or women who aspire to do so. One of the forum members had difficulty typing my real name because her computer kept correcting her spelling and offering Samurai as an option.
My fellow forum members decided that the name suited me, as I have the temperament of a noble warrior, and so the moniker stuck.[Samurai= a term for the military nobility in pre-industrial Japan. Source: Wikipedia].
Only, Samurai is such a mouthful, so Sam it is.
Sometimes when I face life’s challenges, including rejection from publishers, I forget that I’m supposed to be a warrior. I just want to lie down, close my eyes and wait for the world to go away.
Then I receive an email from one of my fellow-bloggers, who refer to me as Sam, and I’m not just any old writer. I’m a warrior woman too. And a warrior woman does not give up.
The basics
I’m a woman, daughter, mother, sister, aunt and friend. I work as a journalist, aspire to write books and work too hard to make the latter possible. I spend a lot of time online, talking to friends and trying to learn the business and craft of writing. I also garden, read a lot of fiction and watch some TV.
I live in an old house in Johannesburg, and every so often I think that I should be doing something to renovate it. Then I paint a room or something, decide I’m too exhausted to continue and get back to the rest of my daily activities until inspiration strikes again.
Dreams
Sometimes I wonder if being working as a writer was the right career choice for me. I would definitely be making more money, and suffering less rejection, if I worked as an accountant or lawyer. But I know that deep down I’m doing what I’m supposed to do with my work life, despite the challenges.
Of course, if I’m meant to be a professional writer, one would think I would get the combination of writing well and making a living at it right, wouldn’t one? Yet, here I am at almost 40, not yet rich, not yet famous, and still battling to break in. Note the yet - I am ever the optimist.
I think part of issue is that I [mostly] enjoy being a writer. I also keep faith that my dreams will come true, and that I will place my books with publishers, and they will be read by enough people to make the effort worthwhile. I know I’m looking for a needle in the haystack, but what would be the fun [ and challenge ] if success came too easily?
Tuesday, 20 February 2007
I'm in!
Thanks Sam for creating the blog - it took a bit of doing, but I finally figured out how to post using my own email addy; who sez blondes are dumb, huh huh? Mebbe I'm just a bit slow, but dumb? Ha!
Well, we've tried most web mediums, including a website (which still exists, but is in need of a serious update, ahem), to a newsletter (which was fun, but perhaps impractical as we've just all got too much to do), to various email groups (which still works a charm) and now blogging. I admit that I'm not into blogging, but it's worth giving it a try; even if I do not blog that much (oy, I heard that "thank goodness", Fi!) it will be a pleasure reading blogs from my three partners in crime...er, I mean, partners in write. Ahem.
GB posted a link to Jenny Hobbs , a South African writer who was responsible for the hugely entertaining "Blossom Broadbeam" articles which featured regularly in Darling magazine (does this mag still exist? I think not?). Anyway, what caught my eye was her following words:
"When people tell me they want to write, I ask them: ‘Do you read a lot and write every day? If not, you’re clearly not serious about writing.’
Mm, it's certainly made me think - I always, but always use time as an excuse: I don't have time to write this, but it's okay because reading and writing is "just" a hobby, or I only have time to read during holidays because "real life" is just too frantic. Yes, it is - real life, that is, but what isn't real about reading and writing? Reading opens doors to other worlds while writing helps me open up my own world, whether real or imagined.
More about me, on the writing front: I edit, publish and mostly write two (for now) print newsletters (Zest, the official newsletter for my kids' cheerleading team, and a newsletter for an independent children's home fund raiser). I enjoy fiction and poetry, although the latter has taken a back seat for the last few years. I'm trying to complete (hopefully by June this year) a correspondence writing/journalism course - not because I have aspirations to be a journalist, but because I simply want to learn more about the craft.
Here's to this blog helping us all to read and write more. Cheers!
Well, we've tried most web mediums, including a website (which still exists, but is in need of a serious update, ahem), to a newsletter (which was fun, but perhaps impractical as we've just all got too much to do), to various email groups (which still works a charm) and now blogging. I admit that I'm not into blogging, but it's worth giving it a try; even if I do not blog that much (oy, I heard that "thank goodness", Fi!) it will be a pleasure reading blogs from my three partners in crime...er, I mean, partners in write. Ahem.
GB posted a link to Jenny Hobbs , a South African writer who was responsible for the hugely entertaining "Blossom Broadbeam" articles which featured regularly in Darling magazine (does this mag still exist? I think not?). Anyway, what caught my eye was her following words:
"When people tell me they want to write, I ask them: ‘Do you read a lot and write every day? If not, you’re clearly not serious about writing.’
Mm, it's certainly made me think - I always, but always use time as an excuse: I don't have time to write this, but it's okay because reading and writing is "just" a hobby, or I only have time to read during holidays because "real life" is just too frantic. Yes, it is - real life, that is, but what isn't real about reading and writing? Reading opens doors to other worlds while writing helps me open up my own world, whether real or imagined.
More about me, on the writing front: I edit, publish and mostly write two (for now) print newsletters (Zest, the official newsletter for my kids' cheerleading team, and a newsletter for an independent children's home fund raiser). I enjoy fiction and poetry, although the latter has taken a back seat for the last few years. I'm trying to complete (hopefully by June this year) a correspondence writing/journalism course - not because I have aspirations to be a journalist, but because I simply want to learn more about the craft.
Here's to this blog helping us all to read and write more. Cheers!
Well done Sam, we are on a roll!
Well done Sam for the first ever post on this Blog, and thanks for setting it up for us!
Hello everyone, I am the 2nd member of this group to post.
My nickname (avatar?? am new to this she grins) is "GB" (short for gilly-blossom). As with Sam's avatar, it's a long story ... we will get there. We will also introduce ourselves collectively and individually in more detail as we go along.
We are corporately and individually many faceted, but we have one thing in common and that is a love of writing (and of course of reading). We all have different styles and areas of interest as well. I will leave this my first post at that and make way for the other two members to introduce themselves to you as well.
Monday, 19 February 2007
The honourary first post
It feels weird doing the introductory post for SA Writers, but it's also an honour.
To begin: SA Writers is an online writing group for South African writers based in South Africa and abroad.
While we initially formed the group in order to discuss our writing endeavours, our group is casual and we also discuss a variety of subjects, including non-writing topics. We have found that in sharing these non-writing related experiences, we have grown to understand each other more, and have inspired each other to write the best that we can.
Currently, only four members of the group intend to blog in this space. I'm called Sam, and one day I'll tell the story of how I came by such a common avatar.
My fellow-members are Deb, Gilli and Fi. They too have other names, and they will tell you more about how they prefer to be called.
Our plan is to share the writing -related resources we come across which will inspire other SA writers to write, help improve our writing craft or find a publisher for our works. Each of us may also choose to blog about other non-writing related subjects, at our discretion. We'll see how that works out as the blog evolves.
SA Writers welcomes you comments. If you are interested enough in the group to want to join, you will also be welcome.
To begin: SA Writers is an online writing group for South African writers based in South Africa and abroad.
While we initially formed the group in order to discuss our writing endeavours, our group is casual and we also discuss a variety of subjects, including non-writing topics. We have found that in sharing these non-writing related experiences, we have grown to understand each other more, and have inspired each other to write the best that we can.
Currently, only four members of the group intend to blog in this space. I'm called Sam, and one day I'll tell the story of how I came by such a common avatar.
My fellow-members are Deb, Gilli and Fi. They too have other names, and they will tell you more about how they prefer to be called.
Our plan is to share the writing -related resources we come across which will inspire other SA writers to write, help improve our writing craft or find a publisher for our works. Each of us may also choose to blog about other non-writing related subjects, at our discretion. We'll see how that works out as the blog evolves.
SA Writers welcomes you comments. If you are interested enough in the group to want to join, you will also be welcome.
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