I became a poet in 1969, shortly after my 11th birthday. I didn’t bother to write any poems, see, because that’s not what poets do. Writing poems down is what published poets do. I was a poet, though unwritten. It was on a warm autumn’s day that I stumbled across the 64 pages of Don…
Now auditioning: Juliette d’Arc Dubois, Jeanne’s sister. I think she nailed her audition with Foss. I wonder how Jeanne will react when she discovers her staid, grumpy sister is flirty and open with him. Two hours after my meeting, during which I reached out to every mutual acquaintance that Dark and I shared, I was…
Busy at work all week, with a jacked-up back. As a result, I haven’t been on the computer at all, really. Hope to catch up with all of you soon. Foss and Jeanne will have to keep waiting.
I am writing a character-driven book. I’ve been saying that to myself all day. It’s as much a surprise to me as to anyone, even though by now, it should have been obvious. I’ve always tried to be pretty in-depth about characters, but until now, all my stories have been plot driven. And yes, I…
For all those who believe despite evidence to the contrary.
One thing that hasn’t changed in my writing process is how I inject new minor characters, whether human or some dim, imagined part of my consciousness. (My process for major characters is substantially different and involved. I’ve written about it here, here, and here.) Being largely visual (though Maria argues that I am as auditory…
I’ve been struggling with my latest work-in-progress, the suspense novel Jeanne Dark, despite the fact that I know and like the characters and have plotted the entire book. Indeed, as I told Maria tonight, I feel like my characters have become impatient with me, egging me on to write the damned book already. So, I’m…
i naw suffer fi da sound ‘cau him give me wha’ me need fight him war here wi’ mi words naw gon’ smokin’ up him weed ’cause we live in babylon think they know just what we are i can walk inna garage it won’t make me pretty car soldiers in Jah army
I lift my camera unto thee for thou to bless that I might see I take the shot; I shall not dread but shoot o’er Bill’s giant head I look to thee, as he records the majesty my kit affords And by your light I get the shot Hot damn! This gear is really hot!…
Here is a poem I started in 1986 and never finished after getting feedback from the editor of a poetry journal. She was right, of course, but until now, I didn’t know how to finish it. Works-in-progress often take that — progress not in the work, but in the poet. On one level, it feels…
The Artists' Sanctum 