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Firefly Sep 2014
“Discipline allows magic. To be a writer is to be the very best of assassins. You do not sit down and write every day to force the Muse to show up. You get into the habit of writing every day so that when she shows up, you have the maximum chance of catching her, bashing her on the head, and squeezing every last drop out of that *****.”
― Lili St. Crow

“What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’ And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll come.’” — Maya Angelou

“Suggestions? Put it aside for a few days, or longer, do other things, try not to think about it. Then sit down and read it (printouts are best I find, but that’s just me) as if you’ve never seen it before. Start at the beginning. Scribble on the manuscript as you go if you see anything you want to change. And often, when you get to the end you’ll be both enthusiastic about it and know what the next few words are. And you do it all one word at a time.” — Neil Gaiman

“Meggie Folchart: Having writer's block? Maybe I can help.
Fenoglio: Oh yes, that's right. You want to be a writer, don't you?
Meggie Folchart: You say that as if it's a bad thing.
Fenoglio: Oh no, it's just a lonely thing. Sometimes the world you create on the page seems more friendly and alive than the world you actually live in.”
― David Lindsay-Abaire

“Now, what I’m thinking of is, people always saying “Well, what do we do about a sudden blockage in your writing? What if you have a blockage and you don’t know what to do about it?” Well, it’s obvious you’re doing the wrong thing, don’t you? In the middle of writing something you go blank and your mind says: “No, that’s it.” Ok. You’re being warned, aren’t you? Your subconscious is saying “I don’t like you anymore. You’re writing about things I don’t give a **** for.” You’re being political, or you’re being socially aware. You’re writing things that will benefit the world. To hell with that! I don’t write things to benefit the world. If it happens that they do, swell. I didn’t set out to do that. I set out to have a hell of a lot of fun.

I’ve never worked a day in my life. I’ve never worked a day in my life. The joy of writing has propelled me from day to day and year to year. I want you to envy me, my joy. Get out of here tonight and say: ‘Am I being joyful?’ And if you’ve got a writer’s block, you can cure it this evening by stopping whatever you’re writing and doing something else. You picked the wrong subject.” — Ray Bradbury at The Sixth Annual Writer’s Symposium by the Sea, 2001

“writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all”
― Charles Bukowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite:
"Fool!" said my muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write.”
― Philip Sidney, Astrophel and Stella



“What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’ And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay. Okay. I’ll come.’” — Maya Angelou

“Suggestions? Put it aside for a few days, or longer, do other things, try not to think about it. Then sit down and read it (printouts are best I find, but that’s just me) as if you’ve never seen it before. Start at the beginning. Scribble on the manuscript as you go if you see anything you want to change. And often, when you get to the end you’ll be both enthusiastic about it and know what the next few words are. And you do it all one word at a time.” — Neil Gaiman

“I encourage my students at times like these to get one page of anything written, three hundred words of memories or dreams or stream of consciousness on how much they hate writing — just for the hell of it, just to keep their fingers from becoming too arthritic, just because they have made a commitment to try to write three hundred words every day. Then, on bad days and weeks, let things go at that… Your unconscious can’t work when you are breathing down its neck. You’ll sit there going, ‘Are you done in there yet, are you done in there yet?’ But it is trying to tell you nicely, ‘Shut up and go away.'” — Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

“Now, what I’m thinking of is, people always saying “Well, what do we do about a sudden blockage in your writing? What if you have a blockage and you don’t know what to do about it?” Well, it’s obvious you’re doing the wrong thing, don’t you? In the middle of writing something you go blank and your mind says: “No, that’s it.” Ok. You’re being warned, aren’t you? Your subconscious is saying “I don’t like you anymore. You’re writing about things I don’t give a **** for.” You’re being political, or you’re being socially aware. You’re writing things that will benefit the world. To hell with that! I don’t write things to benefit the world. If it happens that they do, swell. I didn’t set out to do that. I set out to have a hell of a lot of fun.

I’ve never worked a day in my life. I’ve never worked a day in my life. The joy of writing has propelled me from day to day and year to year. I want you to envy me, my joy. Get out of here tonight and say: ‘Am I being joyful?’ And if you’ve got a writer’s block, you can cure it this evening by stopping whatever you’re writing and doing something else. You picked the wrong subject.” — Ray Bradbury at The Sixth Annual Writer’s Symposium by the Sea, 2001

“The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.” — Mark Twain

“The best way is always to stop when you are going good and when you know what will happen next. If you do that every day … you will never be stuck. Always stop while you are going good and don’t think about it or worry about it until you start to write the next day. That way your subconscious will work on it all the time. But if you think about it consciously or worry about it you will **** it and your brain will be tired before you start.” — Ernest Hemingway

“Many years ago, I met John Steinbeck at a party in Sag Harbor, and told him that I had writer’s block. And he said something which I’ve always remembered, and which works. He said, “Pretend that you’re writing not to your editor or to an audience or to a readership, but to someone close, like your sister, or your mother, or someone that you like.” And at the time I was enamored of Jean Seberg, the actress, and I had to write an article about taking Marianne Moore to a baseball game, and I started it off, “Dear Jean . . . ,” and wrote this piece with some ease, I must say. And to my astonishment that’s the way it appeared in Harper’s Magazine. “Dear Jean . . .” Which surprised her, I think, and me, and very likely Marianne Moore.” — John Steinbeck by way of George Plimpton

“Over the years, I’ve found one rule. It is the only one I give on those occasions when I talk about writing. A simple rule. If you tell yourself you are going to be at your desk tomorrow, you are by that declaration asking your unconscious to prepare the material. You are, in effect, contracting to pick up such valuables at a given time. Count on me, you are saying to a few forces below: I will be there to write.” — Norman Mailer in The Spooky Art: Some Thoughts on Writing

“[When] the thoughts rise heavily and pass gummous through my pen… I never stand conferring with pen and ink one moment; for if a pinch of ***** or a stride or two across the room will not do the business for me — … I take a razor at once; and have tried the edge of it upon the palm of my hand, without further ceremony, except that of first lathering my beard, I shave it off, taking care that if I do leave hair, that it not be a grey one: this done, I change my shirt — put on a better coat — send for my last wig — put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself from one end to the other of me, after my best fashion.” — Laurence Sterne

“I learned to produce whether I wanted to or not. It would be easy to say oh, I have writer’s block, oh, I have to wait for my muse. I don’t. Chain that muse to your desk and get the job done.” — Barbara Kingsolver

“Writer’s block…a lot of howling nonsense would be avoided if, in every sentence containing the word WRITER, that word was taken out and the word PLUMBER substituted; and the result examined for the sense it makes. Do plumbers get plumber’s block? What would you think of a plumber who used that as an excuse not to do any work that day?

The fact is that writing is hard work, and sometimes you don’t want to do it, and you can’t think of what to write next, and you’re fed up with the whole **** business. Do you think plumbers don’t feel like that about their work from time to time? Of course there will be days when the stuff is not flowing freely. What you do then is MAKE IT UP. I like the reply of the composer Shostakovich to a student who complained that he couldn’t find a theme for his second movement. “Never mind the theme! Just write the movement!” he said.

Writer’s block is a condition that affects amateurs and people who aren’t serious about writing. So is the opposite, namely inspiration, which amateurs are also very fond of. Putting it another way: a professional writer is someone who writes just as well when they’re not inspired as when they are.” — Philip Pullman
Really stop waiting for your muse. These quotes came from various sources,thus including:Books Taking Up Space In The Bookshelf,Journals, and of course The Internet.
Days gone without writing: 9
n o i r Feb 2015
I've never been afraid to die.

If I am afraid of anything,
it is inadequate life.
I fear not holding to my ideals,
not being understanding, kind, compassionate.
I fear being overwhelmed,
permitting others to make my decisions.
I fear being untrue to who I am.

I don't fear death.
I don't fear people or life or
the dread that comes with it.
I fear being idle,
refusing to attempt building
an echo of my voice.
I fear not opening doors, making no
attempts rather than those which are vain.

I fear not keeping promises,
the commitments made to people,
be they deemed as real or fiction.

I fear not being young while I can,
not being an open spirit,
not being honest and centered
around only myself.
To die without making change,
an attempt.

I expect to die old, fulfilled;
to possess these years in
which I now live as photographs
on paper and text printouts.
Genuine recollections,
spread beyond myself and shared.

I wish to die known for my convictions,
whether they appease the masses
or my own compass.
I want to die knowing that I
loved and lost and found again.

I want to die old and grey and fragile
rather than young and pretty
and adhering to a false culture which
we swallow whole.

I've never been afraid to die.
Flames of computer lights

Warm the children's eyes they see.

Their religion is Technology,

But what truth lies behind their screams?



Glimpses of the future,

Children of fire with minds of steel

Free thinking not allowed,

Microchip logic can't feel.

DARK DAYS

Created from past life

SHOW THE WAY.



Is this the end for seen?

One world Government-Imperfection-

Oh, what does it mean?

Metal hands held ready for population termination.

DARK DAYS

Where machines control

WHAT YOU SAY.



Time to take a stand,

Got to change what will be.

Take a stand and see

The truth behind illicit function.

Emotion is the key

To reach through the lost memory.



Matter over mind,

This the future we brought to be.

The law -programmed rights and wrongs-

Robotic truth is all there can be.

DARK DAYS

Chained by knowledge

IS OUR PRICE TO PAY.



Erratic surveys follow you farther,

Leaves little time.

Holding on for the call,

Computer printouts read: END OF LINE :

DARK DAYS

Another victim always awaits.

ON AND ON THE GAME PLAYS.



DARK DAYS

Time after Time.
Profanisaurus Nov 2015
Our computer who art in the study
Hallowed be thy printer
We have had you for years
May all work be done
From now until 3000
Give us today our daily printouts
And forgive us our viruses
As we forgive those who send viruses to us
Lead us not to the recycle bin
And deliver us from the Internet
For thine is the A drive
Hard disk and mouse
From now till 3000

Amen
Helen Aug 2015
As my frontal lobe articulates
from the anterior, just under
my forehead, I understand
why sweat beaded upon my
upper lip and my eyes bled

Spilling words onto a sheet
of paper, ink stains shaped
like a swarm of angry bees.
Crisping like raisins too long
in the sun, angling on a hook
that captures May like a
golden sunset dying on a breeze

Messages in Cherry Red reflecting
on the mirror to be read back after
an intoxicating night. Never would
the words remain in the steam of
a quiet shower that washes away
remnants of sorrow or a quaking
knowledge that what the lipstick
says just might happen to be right

A table set for twenty six as only
one will attend to partake of seven
courses of molasses and fake hope
Pacing up and down, rearranging
the letters in a potion of epic…ness
that can only come from plucking
consonants from a burning lava,
scraping the bottom of the barrel
for a vowel in the Alphagetti soup

There is the napkin I blew my nose
into which only had a phone number
on it. It turned into 8 reasons why
I would never bother to call
And there is the corner of my duvet
that I dribbled on but the pattern
resembled all my shattered dreams
that poured out of my mouth while
sleeping and became my greatest fall

Here is the ultrasound that has a few
words that sum up what the world
means to me and a picture of our daughter
This is the 15 scraps of paper that you
wrote 15 different lines of love to me
and they are all in the box, being loved
just as everything else ought to.

There are books and printouts and bits
of cardboard and a piece of driftwood
that I used to scratch a few words in
with a rock along with the photo of
the words written inside a heart on a
beach that was one thousand kilometers
away from you but I was there and
you were not.

There is 3.4 gig on a computer and
a gazillion that are frothing inside a
compartment that is internalized and labeled
Someday To Be Said. No matter where or
how or why or now or latter on paper or
engraved in rock on a elaborately carved stone
or chasing their own tails in their own head
Folded like a paper plane and launched
into a rabid universe words will land where
they will, dressed as they are, happy the party
is still in full swing. They don’t wonder
if the landing is soft, they fall, and then
they become still.

**Happy Landing
so.... I found this old usb in a draw, full of my poetry... old poem, circa 2011, new name :)
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
In a book of love letters
written centuries ago
I found a line you once wrote to me

and it startled me so badly
that I closed the book
replaced it upon the shelf
and avoided it for months.

It was a letter from a man
to his lady love
separately secluded in pastoral France
and I think of another letter you wrote
while I was in Luxembourg
in which you ended with the words
"Get to Paris at all costs",
and I wonder
if the two might be connected.

You loved my letters
my practiced penmanship
and humorous style
but it was to my sister
that my letters
were most creative.

Her favorite and mine,
a letter where on one page
I wrote every third line
until the page was full;
on another I began writing
on all four edges of the page
and spiraled inward.

Thirteen pages,
each different and unique
as I recalled for her
the mundane details of my days -

And then I got a computer.

And, despite my best intentions
promises made to myself and friends
I stopped writing letters,
replacing them
with infrequent cards
and impersonal printouts.

And even though
the content was much the same
they were devoid of much
of their former style
and personality.

And so it was
that we lost touch
and I was left behind
to seek you elsewhere.

I returned to that book one day
and though the words
of that long ago lover
still rang with your voice
they'd lost some of their sting.

Cori MacNaughton
(prior to) 28 Apr 2005
I have read this poem in public on several occasions.  This is the first time it appears in print.

— The End —