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Jan 2015 · 604
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I am the handmaid,
You are the master,

The price of your swimsuit,
Is twice the price of my winter clothing,

Your well-manicured hands,
Tire not of rubbing the dirt off my face,

Your eyes pleading,
I let myself love you back.
What I’ve Learned as a Writer
By Leo Babauta

I’ve been a professional writer since I was 17: so nearly 24 years now. I’ve made my living with words, and have written a lot of them — more than 10 million (though many of them were duplicates).

That means I’ve made a ton of errors. Lots of typos. Lots of bad writing.

Being a writer means I’ve failed a lot, and learned a few things in the process.

Now, some of you may be aspiring writers (or writers looking for inspiration from a colleague). Others might not ever want to be a writer, but you should still care about writing. I’ll tell you why: it’s an incredible tool for learning about yourself. And if you’re an effective writer, you’re an effective communicator, thinker, salesperson, businessperson, persuader.

So for anyone interested in writing, I’d love to share what I’ve learned so far.

    Write every **** day. Yes, even weekends. Yes, even when you’re busy with other crap. Each day I write a blog post, an article for Sea Change, part of my new book, or perhaps part of a novel. If I don’t have enough to write every day, I start a new writing project. I write at least 1,000 words a day, but you don’t have to write that much. Writing daily makes it a routine thing, so you never have to think about it. You just do it. It gets much easier, less intimidating. You get better at it. It’s like talking with a friend: just how you express yourself.
    Create a blog if you don’t have one. Whether or not you’re a writer, you should have a blog. Why? Because it’s a great way to reach an audience, to practice writing on a daily basis, to reflect on what you’ve been learning, to share that with others so they might benefit, to engage in a wider conversation, to learn about yourself. Anyone who wants to learn about themselves should have a blog. (Protip: Try Sett to start a blog — it’s a great way to grow an audience and community.)
    Write plainly. I think this is from Strunk & White, but it works well for me. I write in plain language, leaving the flowery stuff for others. Academic writing is the worst — it’s so stilted no one wants to read it unless they want to show others how smart they are. Technical jargon, business-speak, pretentious vocabulary, insider acronyms … none of them have any place in communicating with your fellow human beings. Only use those things if you want to hide the fact that you don’t know what you’re talking about.
    Don’t write just to hear yourself talk. Lots of people like to go on and on about themselves and their lives, but readers don’t come for that. Readers come for their own purposes. You’re reading this to get ideas for yourself as a writer, not to hear the life story of Leo the amazing writer in technicolor detail. Now, you can tell stories about yourself if they’re vividly entertaining or inspirational or really instructive. But have a purpose, and be sure you’re meeting that purpose. Don’t just ramble.
    Nearly everything can be shortened. Including this post, of course. I could probably cut 25% of this post and get away with it (I’ve already cut 25%). Go through your sentences and ask: is this necessary? What purpose does it serve? How would this read without it? And if you can, drop it. It makes your work more readable, clearer.
    Fear stops most potential writers. Most people don’t write (publicly at least) because they’re afraid their writing will ****. Well, it will. Everyone ***** at first. You don’t get better at something by sitting on your hands. **** it up, put yourself out there. You won’t have many readers at first, when you ****, but as your audience grows so will your skills.
    Read regularly for inspiration. I might write more than 1,000 words a day, but I read 10 times that. I read books and (online) magazines and blogs and more. Reading gives me ideas, shows me better ways to write, gives me access to the best teachers in my craft (amazing writers).
    Procrastination is your friend. Every writer lives daily with procrastination. If you allow yourself to feel guilty about that, then you’ll feel bad about yourself as a writer. Instead, embrace your procrastination as a friend, enjoy it … and then ask the friend to leave for awhile so you can get your work done. No friend should monopolize all your time. Get your writing done, then invite the friend back when you have free time.
    Have people expect your writing. This is another reason blogs are fantastic: if you build up an audience, you feel the pressure of their expectations. This pressure is a good thing — it keeps procrastination from taking over your life. You know the audience expects you to write, so you get off your **** and you do it. Before I had a blog, my editors were the people expecting my writing.
    Email is an excuse. We often go to check email because it feels productive (and it can be), but it’s easy to use that as a way to put off the writing. Honestly, if you close your email for a couple hours, nothing bad will happen. Close it, close everything else, and get to writing. Your email will be waiting for you when you’re done.
    Writing tools don’t matter. Most people tinker with their writing tools, trying to find the perfect system. ***** that. You can write with anything, as long as you have a keyboard. Yes, I much prefer typing to writing by hand, because I’m much faster at typing. I can get the words out closer to the speed of my thinking. But what writing program I use is irrelevant: I write in TextEdit, Sublime Text, Ommwriter, Byword, Notational Velocity, in the WordPress or Sett editor in the browser, in Google Docs. Just open up a new document and start writing.
    Jealousy is idiotic. Writers can often be insecure types — perhaps it’s a byproduct of putting your soul out in the world for all to criticize. So they’re often jealous of the success of other writers. That’s a complete waste of time and energy. It does you no good as a writer. Instead, learn from the success of others, see what’s good about you, and merge the two. Be happy for people. It’ll make you happier too.
    Writing can change lives. When I publish a post, I hope it’ll be of use to someone. But the responses I get are often incredible — people tell me how much a post or my blog in general has changed their lives. I’m blown away by this. When you put something with good intention out in the world, you have no idea what kind of impact it might have on others. It might do nothing, but it could have a profound effect on someone’s life. That’s truly powerful. That’s truly a reason to get up and write.

And one thing I’ve learned, above all, is this: the life that my writing has changed more than any other is my own. Writing for you has changed me, in ways I am only beginning to grasp. In wonderful, crazy, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of ways. And that makes me want to do it forever.
Jan 2015 · 309
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“Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.” —Unknown
Jan 2015 · 219
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“And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.” —Douglas Coupland
Dec 2014 · 802
Simplicity - simple me
Suns and moons of years past,
Have taught me the simplicity,
In is, was, here, now, today, tomorrow,

Time spent trying to be better,
Only made me discover that,
Tomorrow, today, now, here, was, is in place,

Reading never made it easier too,
I guess complexity only helps,
In is, was, here, now today, tomorrow,

Making you understand is what i strive,
Each line written shades light on,
Tomorrow, today, now, here, was, is,

Now i pen off feeling proud,
That maybe today simple me,
Is, was, here, now, today, tomorrow.
Dec 2014 · 374
Untitled
though my paths are crooked
though my world is desolate
despite being a little dreamless
or maybe close to being penniless
my vision is not blurred
my eyes remain trained ahead
and the world is conspiring beautifully
that i may reach there
Dec 2014 · 2.0k
Numb
Like a flower in winder
I lay patiently waiting
For the summer sun to bring forth
Its shine of warmth
As I look to the clouds above
I engulf myself into the slightest
Hope emanating from the
Ever gloomy surface
And let myself forget
My numb self
Dec 2014 · 748
Dear daddy
It is funny how when I say daddy
a smile often spreads forth on my lips
it may be because of the ‘dy’ at the end of daddy
or because I loved you so much

Smiling always reminds me
of how many times yours beckoned to me
you lit up the room with your jokes
and turned a house into a home

Home is no longer home without you
you have been gone too long now
you should be a memory to us now
but you remain the backbone of what you left

You held us close with your loving arms
simplicity was your best suit
yet love was your weakness
for you granted it to us without restraint

The simplicity in our home
is now lost to an empty place
a place you once filled in our hearts
dear daddy.
Dec 2014 · 983
Listen!
Don’t listen to the words coming out of my mouth
They are a rehearsal in the mirror everyday
Instead
Listen to the soft whispers of my heart
Telling you ever silent words
In my anger
My lips tell of frustration
In my happiness
My hands tell of a tender love in my soul
In my pain
My eyes tell of hurt
In my distress
My tears plead with you
To please listen
For the burden weighing on my shoulders
Is becoming too heavy to carry
Because you are not listening!
Dec 2014 · 1.3k
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Her inner strength spread forth,
Winged with affection,
She taught others of its importance,
It wasn’t that she was made of stone,
God, no!
She was flesh and blood.

Fragility echoed in the walls of her heart,
Her never wavering eyes,
Hid the ingress to her troubled soul,
A guiding light she was,
Great a thinker she was taken to be,
Yet only one with minuscule eyes,
Could one see the gravity of her pain.

Nothing seemed to be in her favor,
Always contemplating on how to make it,
Fear gripped every bone in her,
Disappointment had been her colleague,
Nursing her into betrayals and discomfort,
The waterfalls of her tears had wet her bed,
In the secrecy of her capsule

Yet, her standing remained an inspiration,
Her pain was the light of others,
She knew all too well,
Her fragility had no place,
And hoped,
That the strength seen by others,
Would one day make its way,
Into her weakened heart.
Who we are to the rest of the world is different from what we are inside our hearts. This poem is a dedication to all strong people, men and women although specifically to those strong ladies who know how to hold on even when everything around is falling, mothers who remain pillars for their children even when they cry everyday in their beds, wives who remain the backbone of their husbands when all they want is to be shielded from the pain they have.
Dec 2014 · 376
A desperate plea
Writhing with anxiety,
He hesitantly walked ahead,
He equivocally looked beyond his nose,
Whimpers of tired sobs,
Followed him to the door,
‘Please, please,’ her tired voice begged,
‘Do everything you can’

Everything I have done thus far,
He thought,
Is the best I can,
But still,
He never blocked the ray of hope,
In her path of darkness,
As he moved to and fro,

Time flew by fast,
Any glimpse of a break through,
Uneventfully shut in his face,
With nowhere to turn,
He remembered gentle words seldom heard,
As in entranced, he listened carefully,
Guilt of sins past imbued him,
But strutted on with faith,

He desperately made his plea,
‘If you will do just this one thing for me,
I promise…’
But now,
Everything is back to ‘normal’,
The desperate times past,
Promises made broken, again.
Many of us often turn to God and pray fervently when we have problems. This poem was inspired by a friend who made a desperate prayer when he had a serious errand to run for his wife. He had made the prayer a day before but as he spoke to us, he openly said he never remembered any single word he uttered in that desperate time.

Notes on how i can improve this poem are welcome. Thank you.
Dec 2014 · 461
Untitled
The air
Around her spoke
Of superiority of character
Yet her eyes betrayed the blindness
Of love.
Dec 2014 · 336
Where do we go from here?
You have combed through the very inside of me,
Like an old broom,
You know the corners of my heart,
Had a taste of my sour cream,
Seen the dirt in my streets,
Now that you are done,
Where do we go from here?
Dec 2014 · 3.8k
Her hair
The beautiful mane that was her hair,
Fell graciously on her shoulders,
A pang of envy creeps in,
Am not blind to eye catching things.

My hand flows to my own mane,
And all I find is a poorly growing one,
It doesn’t help that it is ***** brown,
And hers is shiny black.

I wonder what she ate that I didn’t,
For her to have surprisingly beautiful feminine hair,
Contemplating,
I nearly miss the scuffle…

As it turns out,
Other **** sapiens are watching her,
Jealously I must add,
After all, I am not alone!

As if sensing our gawking looks,
She turns her head, this, and that way,
And in that moment of gratification,
The mane that was her hair falls off.

Stunned, I fall down with it,
As I hit my behind on the concrete floor,
I look for spots of blood,
But soon, a hand picks it up,

Alas, it is her hand!
She should be dead because her head,
Was cut off in a jealousy fit,
By a non-forgiving female.

Then it hits me,
It wasn’t her mane after all,
But a wig of sorts,
That is why she resembled Beyoncé,

Or was it Rihanna,
She fumbles to replace her godly look,
But now, I can breathe,
I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t,

It must have been because I realized,
The same ***** brown uncombed short hair,
That graced her clearly ashamed head,
I am not alone after all!
Dec 2014 · 332
The Evening
As the sun made love to the hills,
The tenderness in her touch caressed the wilderness soft,
The wetness of her gaze,
Aroused the dead man’s soul,
Her beauty untainted,
She stood out one in a million,
Short of being shy,
She hid her face behind the veil of clouds,
Winking at the night,
She smiled her last smile,
A shade of darkness creeped up,
Eyes adjusting, a new visitor comes forth,
A little lighter, she illuminates fondly,
Smiling knowingly, she erupts at ******.

— The End —