Posted by Josh, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
1918. France. The air was clear, as with the skies. The sun was shining like an over-powered light bulb. Nature was just doing her normal business. It was a normal day. What was happening? Soldiers fighting for their lives. Christmas decorations of death littered on the ground. Civilians shrieking and desperately looking for a place to escape from the chaos, with no luck. Lead flying all over no man's land. Blood shedding constantly. Someone dying every second. Yeah, this was just a routine day in France.
On the ground, rifles pattered. Cannons pounded. Screaming of the nearly-dead made things worse. Men ran around in their trenches and shot at the enemy. Both sides tried to break through the opponent's line, but with no success. It was now impossible to move without tripping on dead people. Total stalemate.
That was, unless you were in the air. In, the air, it was a different story. Now you had space. Things were always moving. It was very difficult to be destroyed from the ground. In part it was actually somewhat fun.
However, this didn't mean it was safer in the air. It was too easy to be spotted. It was difficult to fly the plane and use the weapons at the same time. The planes were weak, one shot meant relocating your bedroom underground.
Even still, the air was still an advantage. Planes struck horror in the enemy's heart. It was easier to get the entrenched infantry from the air. So, both sides attempted to dominate the skies.
I wish to talk about a special man to me. His name was Walter Cain. About 6 feet tall, skinny, he was pretty much a normal guy. Except for one thing: he was a great pilot. He was an American who fought for the British. He considered himself invincible. He shot down many German planes and strafed many to death. He was admired.
However, one day, the worst day of my life commenced. Even though I wasn't there, well, you know, it still hurt. Walter was doing his usual routines. He was assigned to strafe the trenches and knock out as many German planes as possible. After eliminating a small group of German planes, his group felt free to attack the ground targets. He was lucky enough to find an artillery position nearby, so he and his squad knocked out that. Then, tragedy. He returned to the action to find that the rest of the group was missing. He looked everywhere, but could not locate them. Then he heard another aircraft closing in from behind. He sighed in relief, thinking it was one of his men. Suddenly, he realized something was wrong. The plane didn't sound like one of his. The mysterious plane attacked Walter. Walter looked back after surviving the first spray of lead. There, behind his aircraft was a large, red, and terrifying plane, locking in to his target. Walter knew he could not escape the German flying monster. He look back in front just in time for the final spray of bullets, which crippled the plane. After some puttering of the engine attempting to work again, it finally failed. Walter's plane began falling to the ground.
His life was coming to an end. At any moment, he would hopelessly collide to the ground. It would be a loss of a great American pilot. His heart shrunk as the increasing winds blew across his face. Doom was just in front of his eyes.
But, before impact, Walter noticed something on the battlefield he's never seen before. It was a huge chuck of metal with sticks coming out of it. He immediately knew it was a tank, but he didn't think it was Allied. He slightly saw a sign on the large monster. It was German. And there were no Allied tanks nearby. He figured his buddies could use his help. He yanked his joystick up as high as he could. This placed the plane in a fast 45 degree angle drop, putting the helpless tank within his path.
"Hello, German steel box!" he said during his final moments of his life. "My name is Walter Cain! Feel the glory of...well...me!"
BOOM!
Now what I just told you is mostly fact, with some legend thrown into it. No one knows what he said or heard because, obviously, nobody was there when he died. This story is about how my experiences almost left me in a similar situation.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Posted by JM, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
1000 Words
The journey of one thousand words is a path every “other” has had to walk. Even if you are part of an “us” that still make you part of a “them” to somebody else. As many of us are all too aware, being a “them” can often lead to having judgment rained down on you and being condemned in willful ignorance.
The journey of one thousand words does not start with a single word. Rather, like any other journey, it begins with a single step. That single step will often be the hardest step you will ever take and the most painful, this step having cost some their lives. Just as you step out of your metaphorical closet, there are those who will seek to shove you back in it just as your eyes are adjusting to the light.
Some will go back in the closet and never come out again.
By stepping out, you are labeled whether or not you care to claim or accept that label. It is human nature to name and label, no matter if the label is actually true. The safety and security for most comes from the label, not the correctness (or lack thereof) or the label. That which is labeled is safe and predictable and therefore should be boxed appropriately. Left to wander free, the being could change the thoughts of others and even bring out more of those with the same label. This would be considered detrimental because with each newly labeled person, the label changes slightly.
And no one likes a changing label.
Some lose their lives because of their labels. Others retreat back to their closets and try to forget they ever stepped out.
For those who have successfully stepped out of their closet, the journey truly begins. Labels are often, if not always, wrong when applied en masse. The journey of one thousand words is a path to be traveled many times in an effort to gain acceptance and understanding that often doesn’t come. Still the words are uttered in hope and, indeed, in longing.
Many of those from closets revel against the longing and delight in being different. Yet many, many more simply want to be treated like humans. Things often escalate into an involuntary war. One that so many don’t want to fight but end up as victims of anyway.
The journey of one thousand words is not one person’s journey. For every speaker there needs to be a listener. Unfortunately, those who have valuable words are often surrounded by deaf ears and muted by labels. They are forced back into their closets and expected to keep what makes them different carefully tucked away until someone else comes along to poke and prod it. They are abnormalities of human nature to be feared and/or looked at with disgust. They are not to be understood but merely observed to better be able others who are “their” kind faster.
No one should be condemned to silence, solitude, or any sort of harm because they are willing to embrace who they truly are and are labeled because of it. A label that often isn’t true. Everyone is a part of an “us” and thus must suffer through the trials as being part of a “them”. Everyone is also on their journey, as both a speaker or a listener. The key is to speak wisely when others are listening and to listen more than you speak.
1000 Words
The journey of one thousand words is a path every “other” has had to walk. Even if you are part of an “us” that still make you part of a “them” to somebody else. As many of us are all too aware, being a “them” can often lead to having judgment rained down on you and being condemned in willful ignorance.
The journey of one thousand words does not start with a single word. Rather, like any other journey, it begins with a single step. That single step will often be the hardest step you will ever take and the most painful, this step having cost some their lives. Just as you step out of your metaphorical closet, there are those who will seek to shove you back in it just as your eyes are adjusting to the light.
Some will go back in the closet and never come out again.
By stepping out, you are labeled whether or not you care to claim or accept that label. It is human nature to name and label, no matter if the label is actually true. The safety and security for most comes from the label, not the correctness (or lack thereof) or the label. That which is labeled is safe and predictable and therefore should be boxed appropriately. Left to wander free, the being could change the thoughts of others and even bring out more of those with the same label. This would be considered detrimental because with each newly labeled person, the label changes slightly.
And no one likes a changing label.
Some lose their lives because of their labels. Others retreat back to their closets and try to forget they ever stepped out.
For those who have successfully stepped out of their closet, the journey truly begins. Labels are often, if not always, wrong when applied en masse. The journey of one thousand words is a path to be traveled many times in an effort to gain acceptance and understanding that often doesn’t come. Still the words are uttered in hope and, indeed, in longing.
Many of those from closets revel against the longing and delight in being different. Yet many, many more simply want to be treated like humans. Things often escalate into an involuntary war. One that so many don’t want to fight but end up as victims of anyway.
The journey of one thousand words is not one person’s journey. For every speaker there needs to be a listener. Unfortunately, those who have valuable words are often surrounded by deaf ears and muted by labels. They are forced back into their closets and expected to keep what makes them different carefully tucked away until someone else comes along to poke and prod it. They are abnormalities of human nature to be feared and/or looked at with disgust. They are not to be understood but merely observed to better be able others who are “their” kind faster.
No one should be condemned to silence, solitude, or any sort of harm because they are willing to embrace who they truly are and are labeled because of it. A label that often isn’t true. Everyone is a part of an “us” and thus must suffer through the trials as being part of a “them”. Everyone is also on their journey, as both a speaker or a listener. The key is to speak wisely when others are listening and to listen more than you speak.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Posted by Sara, manager of Brand New Aspiring Writers.
There is this second that you own.
Though most would waste it, heaven knows.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
For sins we later can atone-
washed clean, like water off a rose.
There is this second that you own
Buck hard against the buffer zone;
rage like wild fire on the status quo.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Ride the world like a cyclone.
Leave not a breath for regrets to grow.
There is this second that you own.
Blink twice, the pages have all flown
off the calendar, fate cruelly exposed.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Hope dies quick when postponed.
Dreams give in to the death throes.
There is this second that you own
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Note - This is my first attempt to write a villanelle.
There is this second that you own.
Though most would waste it, heaven knows.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
For sins we later can atone-
washed clean, like water off a rose.
There is this second that you own
Buck hard against the buffer zone;
rage like wild fire on the status quo.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Ride the world like a cyclone.
Leave not a breath for regrets to grow.
There is this second that you own.
Blink twice, the pages have all flown
off the calendar, fate cruelly exposed.
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Hope dies quick when postponed.
Dreams give in to the death throes.
There is this second that you own
Breathe deeply before God calls you home.
Note - This is my first attempt to write a villanelle.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Fallen Words, a blog that publishes poetry and fiction written by members of The Brand New Aspiring Writers group, welcomes you to the Soup to Nuts Progressive Dinner.
Did you have a drink with Kilroy at Fear and Loathing already? Grab yourself a blog post full of appetizers at Change Therapy? Hope you are not too full to enjoy this first course.
We are serving soup. Each soup is in a shot glass, just a taste to tempt your tastebuds.
Lobster Bisque. Kilroy, Finally I am going mobile!
Did you have a drink with Kilroy at Fear and Loathing already? Grab yourself a blog post full of appetizers at Change Therapy? Hope you are not too full to enjoy this first course.
We are serving soup. Each soup is in a shot glass, just a taste to tempt your tastebuds.
Lobster Bisque. Kilroy, Finally I am going mobile!
Calm chowder. Find out what to do the next time you are having a bad day at Things I Found in the Blogosphere.
Pozole. Read the article Technology and Children - A Wake Up Call For Parents at Telling it Like It Is.
Borscht. Read the article Pushing the Limits of Creativity for Personal Development and Business Innovationat Discover. Inspiring . Media.
Crab bisque. Mistress Regina shares a sexy story at Tales of Ladies, Goddesses and Bitches. Read The Secrets We Share. This is for adults only.
Chicken Noodle. Visit John at From Fat To Fit to read the "Conquering a Small Section of the Mental Mountain.
Beef Barley.Praveen presents CNET Top 10 Tech Lists - the aftermath of the dot-com boom posted at My Simple Trading System.
Minestrone. Dr Martin W. Russell from The Self Help Blog offers the articleForcing Function… WillPower Made Easy
Vegetable Soup.Laura Collins from Are YOU “Eating With Your Anorexic?” has submitted Listening to “Ed”
Cream of Potato.GP from Innside Montana-Your Home at the Range shares the in and out of cooking for guests at an Inn.
Asparagus Soup with Blue Cheese Crumbles. Roger Haeske presents Why Your Gym Membership May Be Wasting You Over 2 Hours A Week.
Spiced Carrot Soup. Scott the poet offers the poem If A Promise
Yellow Tomato Gazpacho Soup.Silicon Valley Blogger presents Cool Gifts For The Real Estate Lover, Investor, Homeowner: A Photo Gallery posted at The Digerati Life.
Eggdrop.RacerX presents Avoid Melting Your Debt Snowball posted at Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Money.
Beef and Bean. Jeremy Wilcox has submitted the post 9/11 Is Dead, Long Live 9/11. Read it at his blog Religion, Politics and The Great Pumpkin.
Lemon Rice. Ever wonder what the worst cover songs in history are? Brian Holland gives us his picks at his blog, Holland's Comet.
Avocado Orange Soup. Over at For Your Success, The Success Coach posted a book review of Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope.
Mexican Red Onion Soup. Tsai Jie from Diary of a Second Life Courtesean advices sexy tips for how to get what you want for Christmas.
Danish Pea Soup with Pork. Suzanne presents borscht with a KitchenAid posted at :: adventures in daily living ::.
Chicken Rice. Kuanyin from Vintage-Tees offers a post about The Wonder of the Taj Mahal
Mulligatawny Soup. Tip Diva presents Top Ten Tips - Preparing For A Job Interview posted at Tip Diva.
You are invited to join Anja next for the main course at Chatting at my Generation and then gobble up a delicious dessert with JM at Fiction Scribe.
After that the Drinks After the Dinner Reception will be hopping over at The Lives and Times...of Anthony McCune, stop by and read the remaining entries.
If you enjoyed this event, then check out the carnivals that are coming up next.
Personal Power
Submit to Anja at anja@hqlondon.net (subject line Personal Power).
This carnival will be held on February 23rd at Chatting With My Generation.
Observations of Life Carnival
Submit to Anja at anja@hqlondon.net (subject line Observations of Life)
This carnival will be held on February 17th at Chatting With My Generation.
The Gonzo Gratitude! Carnival
Submission detials are here
To be held on 15th of February at Kilroy- The Gonzo Papers.
Scribes Blog Carnival
Submit here.
Deadline: January 31st. To be held on February 4th at Fiction Scribe.
A Buddist Carnival
> A carnival of articles about Buddhist practice and teaching
> Deadline: February 8; Posting: February 15
Submission form is here.
>
> Carnival of Eating Disorders
> A carnival about anorexia, bulimia, overeating, body image and other
> related issues. (Please note: This is not about dieting and nutrition
> unless it is directly related to eating disorders.)
> Deadline: February 22; Posting: February 28
Submission form is here.
>
> Canada 9-5
A showcase for Canadian business blogs
> Deadline: February 22; Posting: February 28
Submission form is here.
Surfer’s Paradise Hullabaloo! Carnival
February 18 at The Lives and Times of....Anthony McCune.
You can submit here.
The next Soup to Nuts Progressive Dinner will be held April 3oth. See you there, my blogging friends! You can submit here.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Posted by unknown usr, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
I’ve ranted on a number of issues ranging from my holey underwear to bad music videos, but up until today I never ranted about writing.
I like to write. I like to write a lot. I can pretty much spend hours at
a time cranking out the written word with little regard to what is happening around me. In fact, I’m pretty sure while I’m writing a giant flaming turd could be careening towards the Earth and I would barely notice, unless I was thirsty at the time and got up to get a drink.
The problem I have is real life. Real life tends to suck in a major, goat-dick blowing way. I really find myself at odd with real life on a regular basis. So here is my list of the top reasons real life screws with me so I can’t write.
1) My freakin’ job.
Don’t get me wrong. I like my freakin’ job. It pays me money. I get considerably less grief at my current job than I have in past positions. However, it eats into my writing time in a big way. It’s hard to be a brilliant author when you have to rebuild a crashed server that exploded all over the damned network because of an evil Lovecraftian backup program gone awry.
2) People who harass me, especially about money.
So here I am, writing happily and the stupid collection calls come. All of a sudden,
my happy peaceful groove is blown by anxiety and grief. They can’t even say my name correctly. If you can’t say my name, you get no money. You must be looking for someone else. Go ride your call center phone to hell and get the $20.49 cents from the devil, because you have a far better chance collecting from him than from me at the moment. You don’t want to wait, you get nothing. So stop calling already and let me write! Assmoney.
3) Medication
I rediscovered why I hate antidepressants. Oh yeah, they work great for suppressing that urge to stay in bed forever, but they also kill the creative process. Once off the crap, all of a sudden I have the urge to write again and the ideas kept coming. So I have the choice of depression or creativity. I’ll risk the depression. We’ll leave the drugs for the Prozacbots that roam the planet looking for John Conner.
4) Not winning Megamillions
I make decent money, but I live in overinflated cost of living hell. Ok, I’m not that bad off, but I do have to watch every penny. And it sucks. I keep not winning the
lottery. This is a problem. I need to win the freakin’ lottery already. Why do they keep picking the wrong stupid numbers? They know what numbers they have to pick for me to win. It’s all in the lottery computer. They mock me, openly and completely. I’m going to have to smack down the entire lottery commission.
5) Training
Being sore and tired is not conducive to being in the writing spirit. So I work out,
practice martial arts, and feel like I’ve been sleeping in the drier every night. Not only this, but being the only girl in a martial arts class that is not just for show, makes it a little harder to get through. The fact that I let my workouts slide over the fall and winter does not help now when I have to produce a bunch of pushups while holding my breath with an elephant on my back. Now, I had to beef up my workouts and still keep up with the rest of my life. My muscles ache and all I want to do is soak in a hot tub and watch TV or play…
6) …video games
I think Nintendo is planning world domination through subliminal messages they
implant in the Wii, cause damn, I keep buying games for that thing and getting sucked in. Not only does it zap my time, but it adds to my soreness. I mean Wii boxing really puts a workout on your upper body. I don’t need any more soreness. Geez.
7) Windows Vista
It just sucks.
It likes to just randomly pause and interfere with the flow of my stream of consciousness. Screw you Microsoft.
8) Tax time
Screw the government.
They are wasting my time making me fill out tax returns. They got my money. They need me to tell them to give it back? Who wouldn’t want it back? Maybe they should just stop taking our money and shut up about it. That’s right; the IRS should just shut up and give me my money, biotch.
9) Peeing
Going to the bathroom takes way too much time out of my day. Even as I write
this, I have to pee, but I don’t want to just stop and waste those minutes. Dammit, hold on…
(talk about stream of consciousness)
…Ok, that’s done. Anyway, waste of time.
10) Boogers
I just wanted to say “booger”. Plus they clog the nose, make it harder to breath. So they get to be on the list.
I’ve ranted on a number of issues ranging from my holey underwear to bad music videos, but up until today I never ranted about writing.I like to write. I like to write a lot. I can pretty much spend hours at
a time cranking out the written word with little regard to what is happening around me. In fact, I’m pretty sure while I’m writing a giant flaming turd could be careening towards the Earth and I would barely notice, unless I was thirsty at the time and got up to get a drink.The problem I have is real life. Real life tends to suck in a major, goat-dick blowing way. I really find myself at odd with real life on a regular basis. So here is my list of the top reasons real life screws with me so I can’t write.
1) My freakin’ job.
Don’t get me wrong. I like my freakin’ job. It pays me money. I get considerably less grief at my current job than I have in past positions. However, it eats into my writing time in a big way. It’s hard to be a brilliant author when you have to rebuild a crashed server that exploded all over the damned network because of an evil Lovecraftian backup program gone awry.2) People who harass me, especially about money.
So here I am, writing happily and the stupid collection calls come. All of a sudden,
my happy peaceful groove is blown by anxiety and grief. They can’t even say my name correctly. If you can’t say my name, you get no money. You must be looking for someone else. Go ride your call center phone to hell and get the $20.49 cents from the devil, because you have a far better chance collecting from him than from me at the moment. You don’t want to wait, you get nothing. So stop calling already and let me write! Assmoney.3) Medication
I rediscovered why I hate antidepressants. Oh yeah, they work great for suppressing that urge to stay in bed forever, but they also kill the creative process. Once off the crap, all of a sudden I have the urge to write again and the ideas kept coming. So I have the choice of depression or creativity. I’ll risk the depression. We’ll leave the drugs for the Prozacbots that roam the planet looking for John Conner.4) Not winning Megamillions
I make decent money, but I live in overinflated cost of living hell. Ok, I’m not that bad off, but I do have to watch every penny. And it sucks. I keep not winning the
lottery. This is a problem. I need to win the freakin’ lottery already. Why do they keep picking the wrong stupid numbers? They know what numbers they have to pick for me to win. It’s all in the lottery computer. They mock me, openly and completely. I’m going to have to smack down the entire lottery commission.5) Training
Being sore and tired is not conducive to being in the writing spirit. So I work out,
practice martial arts, and feel like I’ve been sleeping in the drier every night. Not only this, but being the only girl in a martial arts class that is not just for show, makes it a little harder to get through. The fact that I let my workouts slide over the fall and winter does not help now when I have to produce a bunch of pushups while holding my breath with an elephant on my back. Now, I had to beef up my workouts and still keep up with the rest of my life. My muscles ache and all I want to do is soak in a hot tub and watch TV or play…6) …video games
I think Nintendo is planning world domination through subliminal messages they
implant in the Wii, cause damn, I keep buying games for that thing and getting sucked in. Not only does it zap my time, but it adds to my soreness. I mean Wii boxing really puts a workout on your upper body. I don’t need any more soreness. Geez.7) Windows Vista
It just sucks.
It likes to just randomly pause and interfere with the flow of my stream of consciousness. Screw you Microsoft.
8) Tax time
Screw the government.
They are wasting my time making me fill out tax returns. They got my money. They need me to tell them to give it back? Who wouldn’t want it back? Maybe they should just stop taking our money and shut up about it. That’s right; the IRS should just shut up and give me my money, biotch.9) Peeing
Going to the bathroom takes way too much time out of my day. Even as I write
this, I have to pee, but I don’t want to just stop and waste those minutes. Dammit, hold on…(talk about stream of consciousness)
…Ok, that’s done. Anyway, waste of time.
10) Boogers
I just wanted to say “booger”. Plus they clog the nose, make it harder to breath. So they get to be on the list.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Posted by Penelope, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
Penelope Anne Bartotto
January 6, 2007
What Do You Hear?
Tell me sweet child what do you hear?
What sounds reach your wee ear?
I hear the water, mama...
sloshing in the well
May we sit a spell and listen?
Yes, my child.
Tell me sweet child what do you see?
What do your eyes partake with glee?
I see a birdie, mama...
Red as an apple on the tree
May I keep it?
No, my child.
Tell me sweet child what now do you hear?
What noises touch your little ear?
I hear the wind, mama...
It whistles through the leaves
Can I catch it?
Maybe my child.
Tell me mama what do you hear?
What sound reaches your ear?
I hear your heart little one,
beating strong as the heat of the sun.
May I keep it?
Always mama, always.
What sounds reach your wee ear?
I hear the water, mama...
sloshing in the well
May we sit a spell and listen?
Yes, my child.
Tell me sweet child what do you see?
What do your eyes partake with glee?
I see a birdie, mama...
Red as an apple on the tree
May I keep it?
No, my child.
Tell me sweet child what now do you hear?
What noises touch your little ear?
I hear the wind, mama...
It whistles through the leaves
Can I catch it?
Maybe my child.
Tell me mama what do you hear?
What sound reaches your ear?
I hear your heart little one,
beating strong as the heat of the sun.
May I keep it?
Always mama, always.
Penelope Anne Bartotto
January 6, 2007
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Posted by Mark Brown, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers.
A New Year's Sonnet
The days fly by
Our lives breeze away
But the future is here to stay
Yet, we have no idea why.
New Years brings us good
Time marches on, ever.
Leaving it's use to the clever
Positive for us, we hope it would.
New Year will bring us many wishes
Now that it's here, I need to sleep
Time to dream, and play very deep
And to think of many future kisses.
As I rest my head here, I behold...
My dreams, they turn into gold.
A New Year's Sonnet
The days fly by
Our lives breeze away
But the future is here to stay
Yet, we have no idea why.
New Years brings us good
Time marches on, ever.
Leaving it's use to the clever
Positive for us, we hope it would.
New Year will bring us many wishes
Now that it's here, I need to sleep
Time to dream, and play very deep
And to think of many future kisses.
As I rest my head here, I behold...
My dreams, they turn into gold.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Posted by Penelope Anne, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
I have entered an online poetry contest, voting is from 5pm cst 1/11/08 to 1/15/08.
My entry, Taken into the Cold, is located on my writing blog:
Wanna be a Writer Someday
I only want to be voted for if you truly think the poem is worthy. The link for voting will not work until 1/11 but is located on my post. Thanks!
I have entered an online poetry contest, voting is from 5pm cst 1/11/08 to 1/15/08.
My entry, Taken into the Cold, is located on my writing blog:
Wanna be a Writer Someday
I only want to be voted for if you truly think the poem is worthy. The link for voting will not work until 1/11 but is located on my post. Thanks!
Monday, January 7, 2008
Posted by Sky, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers.
The last of the query submissions for The Price of Freedom have finally run their course and this one rejection was a bit of a surprise.
From the Spiridon Literary Agency:
"I’m glad you’ve a project you feel so positive about. But from a publishing perspective, it is best to wait until the book is complete before approaching an agent. An agent is someone who tries to sell an already complete book to publishers. You need to finish writing this, revise it, and make sure it is in top form before submitting to agents. A few years is a long time. When it’s complete, you can query again if you like based on what is done.Thanks again and best wishes."
I just hope that Alethea doesn't mind when it comes back nearly three times the current word count amount. (Of course, I'm not planning on submitting this book again until after I get The Starchild up and running. I'll need the extra funds to help with the editing of POF.)
I still have lots to do with the book. :0)
The last of the query submissions for The Price of Freedom have finally run their course and this one rejection was a bit of a surprise.
From the Spiridon Literary Agency:
"I’m glad you’ve a project you feel so positive about. But from a publishing perspective, it is best to wait until the book is complete before approaching an agent. An agent is someone who tries to sell an already complete book to publishers. You need to finish writing this, revise it, and make sure it is in top form before submitting to agents. A few years is a long time. When it’s complete, you can query again if you like based on what is done.Thanks again and best wishes."
I just hope that Alethea doesn't mind when it comes back nearly three times the current word count amount. (Of course, I'm not planning on submitting this book again until after I get The Starchild up and running. I'll need the extra funds to help with the editing of POF.)
I still have lots to do with the book. :0)
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Fallen Words will be hosting the first course of this Progessive Dinner Blog Carnival on January 30th, 2008.
For more info, please visit Fear and Loathing for detailed instructions.
To take part, go to your blog and choose a post you want to share. Send the link to
IlovetowriteSMP@yahoo.com with the subject line Progessive Dinner.
Posted by Sara, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Writing Pledges for 2008
By Sara, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers at Yahoo Groups.
What is on your writing agenda this year? Do you plan to finish your first novel? Seek out an agent? Submit a short story or poem to a contest? Finally jump in and do NaNoWriMo?
For me I plan to start a new novel, to write a poem a week, and to grow my poetry community, Poets Who Blog, into something even grander than it is right now. I feel a little overwhelmed already. And it is what.....10 hours into the New Year? LOL.
Want do you want to get accomplished in 2008 where your writing is concerned?
What is on your writing agenda this year? Do you plan to finish your first novel? Seek out an agent? Submit a short story or poem to a contest? Finally jump in and do NaNoWriMo?
For me I plan to start a new novel, to write a poem a week, and to grow my poetry community, Poets Who Blog, into something even grander than it is right now. I feel a little overwhelmed already. And it is what.....10 hours into the New Year? LOL.
Want do you want to get accomplished in 2008 where your writing is concerned?
Saturday, December 22, 2007
By Sky, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
I sent out 7 new e-query letters for The Price of Freedom.
I know I've told everyone I'd stop after 2006 and seeing that's almost 2 years since my last batch--I thought I'd give it some limited tries and see what happens.
I completely abandoned the "traditional approach" to query-letter writing--seeing how all the old standbyes never worked worth a damn anyways; and just went with what I thought was a well-structured query letter.
3 pages total, but I gave it a personal touch to the whole thing: Kept the thing on track with what I was pitching, didn't rush it--gave the agent high points and some low points, but above all?
I think I did better this time around than I did last time. Last time, I didn't give one whit.
Pissed, angry, rebellious.
This time, I was a bit more sure of myself.
The Starchild (1,274 pages; $7.50-e-book) Release date: TBA
Sky's book news and other things
Sky's Blog
I sent out 7 new e-query letters for The Price of Freedom.
I know I've told everyone I'd stop after 2006 and seeing that's almost 2 years since my last batch--I thought I'd give it some limited tries and see what happens.
I completely abandoned the "traditional approach" to query-letter writing--seeing how all the old standbyes never worked worth a damn anyways; and just went with what I thought was a well-structured query letter.
3 pages total, but I gave it a personal touch to the whole thing: Kept the thing on track with what I was pitching, didn't rush it--gave the agent high points and some low points, but above all?
I think I did better this time around than I did last time. Last time, I didn't give one whit.
Pissed, angry, rebellious.
This time, I was a bit more sure of myself.
The Starchild (1,274 pages; $7.50-e-book) Release date: TBA
Sky's book news and other things
Sky's Blog
Sunday, October 28, 2007
By Sara, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
I was at K.M. Ryan's site and saw a post about a poem that is trying to travel through the blogosphere.
The sound shook his bones,
like a cymbal
crashing fast against his soul.
A soul detached from mind and body,
shivering in the dark
and fearing the coming light.
He fled to a dingy back alley
and waited. A wind rushed
to meet him at the end-
with that terrible sound wound through it.
And all he could do was wonder if he remembered to lock his front door,
or if his memories would be taken away with his sanity?
He crouched down, curling into his grief,
the last line is mine.
Do you want to add the next line? Here are instructions to take part in this game:
It's a game of poetry tag. Be the first to post TAG in the comments. Then take these lines and add one, in a post on your own blog, along with these instructions. Whoever adds the nineteenth line then takes the poem to Poets Who Blog at http://poetswhoblog.blogspot.com/ and puts the whole poem in the comment section there. Each person who plays need to also mention what site you were at when you found the poem so that other bloggers can follow the breadcrumbs back to this poem. You can play more than once but not twice in a row.
I was at K.M. Ryan's site and saw a post about a poem that is trying to travel through the blogosphere.
The sound shook his bones,
like a cymbal
crashing fast against his soul.
A soul detached from mind and body,
shivering in the dark
and fearing the coming light.
He fled to a dingy back alley
and waited. A wind rushed
to meet him at the end-
with that terrible sound wound through it.
And all he could do was wonder if he remembered to lock his front door,
or if his memories would be taken away with his sanity?
He crouched down, curling into his grief,
the last line is mine.
Do you want to add the next line? Here are instructions to take part in this game:
It's a game of poetry tag. Be the first to post TAG in the comments. Then take these lines and add one, in a post on your own blog, along with these instructions. Whoever adds the nineteenth line then takes the poem to Poets Who Blog at http://poetswhoblog.blogspot.com/ and puts the whole poem in the comment section there. Each person who plays need to also mention what site you were at when you found the poem so that other bloggers can follow the breadcrumbs back to this poem. You can play more than once but not twice in a row.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
By Anna, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
A Crease in the Sheets
A crease in the sheets
Looked just like your feet,
But I knew you had left.
So I straightened the bed.
Half-hoping to find
You were lying inside.
I imagined you'd say
That you'd got off the plane
You'd decided to stay.
Or that maybe, you'd say
That you'd had to return,
Or that someone had learned
That you shouldn't have gone.
But my image was wrong.
It was only the sheets.
It wasn't your feet.
Written by Anna Williams at age 32 Read more of her work at Free Poems
A Crease in the Sheets
A crease in the sheets
Looked just like your feet,
But I knew you had left.
So I straightened the bed.
Half-hoping to find
You were lying inside.
I imagined you'd say
That you'd got off the plane
You'd decided to stay.
Or that maybe, you'd say
That you'd had to return,
Or that someone had learned
That you shouldn't have gone.
But my image was wrong.
It was only the sheets.
It wasn't your feet.
Written by Anna Williams at age 32 Read more of her work at Free Poems
Monday, October 8, 2007
By Sara, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
there’s no inner strongholds
left for surrender
no bunker I could burrow into
in myself
no hearth
no warmth
no happy home
no lovely soul
there is a vast echoless wasteland
withering within
and that
that is all there is
Read more of her work at The Shores of My Dreams.
there’s no inner strongholds
left for surrender
no bunker I could burrow into
in myself
no hearth
no warmth
no happy home
no lovely soul
there is a vast echoless wasteland
withering within
and that
that is all there is
Read more of her work at The Shores of My Dreams.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
By Jaime, a member of Brand New Aspiring Writers
A chipper, albeit pert,
“It’s custard, ma’am,
not ice cream”
on the side
with our milkshakes.
Clarification and caring
disappear, like us around the corner,
as we drive away,
me giggling
and making lewd gestures
with my straw.
Read more from Jaime McDougall at Write Anyway
A chipper, albeit pert,
“It’s custard, ma’am,
not ice cream”
on the side
with our milkshakes.
Clarification and caring
disappear, like us around the corner,
as we drive away,
me giggling
and making lewd gestures
with my straw.
Read more from Jaime McDougall at Write Anyway
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Carnival of Beauty
Others will seek consolation for pain,
haunting the wishbone moment,
numb to sense.
I turn into my own desolate soul, hearing myself
break apart-
unwritten
at the mental seams.
The repeated decrescendo
blasting against my ears-
screams echo and echo, echo, echo, echo,
until daylight broke.
Bless me, bless me, bless these wrists.
Mama, I think I am coming home.
Line one-Tiel Aisha Ansari with her lovely offering Rainmaker
Line two- Shakir Hasnain, a talented poet and friend, who wrote Mirror Writing, check it out. The first two lines are remarkable!
Line three- Shakir Hasnain who also graces us with another piece of his work,Flaw
Line four- Sara from Poets Who Blog
Line five- Sara's poetry blog The Shores of My Dreams
Line six-Skakir Hasnain at his third blog asks that you read the longing filled, exquitely crafted poem The Weatherman
Line seven- Rax, who never fails to amaze me, shares her poem Stitch
Line eight-KGT who shares with us an allegorical masterpiece, My Shameless Lion Pareto
Line nine-Sara with her third blog, non- poetry Aspiring Romance Writer
Line ten- Brian who offers a gripping poem called Bars on My Soul
Line eleven- Terry McDermott from The Shamgar Report with his poem Checkered Cloth
Line twelve-Sharanya Manivannan adds an international flair to our carnival with her poem Duende (The Gypsy Prayer)
Line thirteen-Soham Das, one of the latest poets to share his talent with Poets Who Blog. His line from I Am Coming Home, and all his work posted online, has its
Rights Reserved as per Creative Commons Attributive-Non Derivative 2007 License Soham Das.
Thank you to all the poets who took part in this week’s carnival and to Billy for running the Ringing of the Bards. All the sentence fragments listed above come from the poems that the poets submitted. They belong to the poet who wrote them. Thank you for letting me use them in this way for our carnival.
* if you believed you submitted to this carnival but was not included email me at IlovetowriteSMP@yahoo.com
haunting the wishbone moment,
numb to sense.
I turn into my own desolate soul, hearing myself
break apart-
unwritten
at the mental seams.
The repeated decrescendo
blasting against my ears-
screams echo and echo, echo, echo, echo,
until daylight broke.
Bless me, bless me, bless these wrists.
Mama, I think I am coming home.
Line one-Tiel Aisha Ansari with her lovely offering Rainmaker
Line two- Shakir Hasnain, a talented poet and friend, who wrote Mirror Writing, check it out. The first two lines are remarkable!
Line three- Shakir Hasnain who also graces us with another piece of his work,Flaw
Line four- Sara from Poets Who Blog
Line five- Sara's poetry blog The Shores of My Dreams
Line six-Skakir Hasnain at his third blog asks that you read the longing filled, exquitely crafted poem The Weatherman
Line seven- Rax, who never fails to amaze me, shares her poem Stitch
Line eight-KGT who shares with us an allegorical masterpiece, My Shameless Lion Pareto
Line nine-Sara with her third blog, non- poetry Aspiring Romance Writer
Line ten- Brian who offers a gripping poem called Bars on My Soul
Line eleven- Terry McDermott from The Shamgar Report with his poem Checkered Cloth
Line twelve-Sharanya Manivannan adds an international flair to our carnival with her poem Duende (The Gypsy Prayer)
Line thirteen-Soham Das, one of the latest poets to share his talent with Poets Who Blog. His line from I Am Coming Home, and all his work posted online, has its
Rights Reserved as per Creative Commons Attributive-Non Derivative 2007 License Soham Das.
Thank you to all the poets who took part in this week’s carnival and to Billy for running the Ringing of the Bards. All the sentence fragments listed above come from the poems that the poets submitted. They belong to the poet who wrote them. Thank you for letting me use them in this way for our carnival.
* if you believed you submitted to this carnival but was not included email me at IlovetowriteSMP@yahoo.com
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Brand New Aspiring Writers are honored to be hosting the Ringing of the Bards this week.
Fallen Words is the work of a yahoo writers group that is filled with novelists and poets who are striving to constantly improve their craft. We offer each other support and guidance. It's great to be able to extend that to a larger community for this week and to spread the word about poetry bloggers.
To submit to the carnival send the following information to IlovetowriteSMP@yahoo.com by July 20th. The carnival post will be up on Saturday.
1. The name and URL of your blog
2. Your screen name
3. The name of your poem
4. The URL to your poem
I might make one poem out all of the submissions, if possible, by taking one line from each poem. So be aware of that when you submit. Of course, your line will be credited to you.
Thanks for taking part in this carnival.
Fallen Words is the work of a yahoo writers group that is filled with novelists and poets who are striving to constantly improve their craft. We offer each other support and guidance. It's great to be able to extend that to a larger community for this week and to spread the word about poetry bloggers.
To submit to the carnival send the following information to IlovetowriteSMP@yahoo.com by July 20th. The carnival post will be up on Saturday.
1. The name and URL of your blog
2. Your screen name
3. The name of your poem
4. The URL to your poem
I might make one poem out all of the submissions, if possible, by taking one line from each poem. So be aware of that when you submit. Of course, your line will be credited to you.
Thanks for taking part in this carnival.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
He was going to meet her later that night. The “other” woman. Mia found it strange how, even as she plotted her course of action, she still referred to her as “the other woman” instead of some foul name. Then again, she’d never been one for outright aggression. She was a subtle, quiet type and that didn’t make for rough language.
Jeff didn’t know she knew and neither did the other woman, his project partner, Cassidy. Mia was no stranger to technology, so when she’d come across the private messages, she’d easily been able to make it look like they’d never been read. What had she been doing in his private message box? Looking for the recipe for the meal she cooked tonight, promised to her by a friend to be sent to Jeff. Jeff, the idiot, had forgotten she had his password.
How fortunate for her.
How unfortunate for him.
“Smells delicious, sugar cake!” he called from his study. “My genius cook fiancé is at it again!”
“All for you, my dear,” she called back, smiling pleasantly so the smile could reach her voice and she would sound in a good mood. “Dinner is ready.”
He nearly ran out of his study and sat down at the table. He moved to serve himself and she motioned for him to relax.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You let me serve. You’ve been working so hard on that project, you deserve a little time to relax.”
“Yes,” he said, mournfully. “I’m afraid it’s going to be another full night for me. I can’t wait until this thing is done.”
I bet, she thought, remembering back to that afternoon when she had called his boss and found out that the project had finally been finished and gone through without a hitch earlier that afternoon.
“It’s been rough,” he said with his mouthful, for some reason eating as fast as he could. “It’s been just one thing after another. A bitch of a project.”
Overcompensating, she thought, pitying him for his lies instead of hating him for them.
“My Mia, this is an excellent…” He blinked and swallowed, putting his hand to his stomach.
“It’s soufflé, darling.”
“Yes, soufflé,” he mumbled as a loud, strange noise came from his stomach. “Peach, I think I might have a sensitivity to your-”
He got up from the chair so fast it clattered back on the floor as he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
“Yes,” she said quietly and stood up, “it will be a long night. But not for the reason you thought.”
Poison may be a typical woman’s art, but in that moment, she was happy to be using it. Anyway, poison was only the beginning.
He groaned loudly from the bathroom as she stood outside it. Smiling, she opened the door just enough to roll in the can of air freshener and then closed it again.
So it began. The first step. Revenge best served cold, in a light soufflé.
By Jaime McDougall who posts at Fiction Scribe
Jeff didn’t know she knew and neither did the other woman, his project partner, Cassidy. Mia was no stranger to technology, so when she’d come across the private messages, she’d easily been able to make it look like they’d never been read. What had she been doing in his private message box? Looking for the recipe for the meal she cooked tonight, promised to her by a friend to be sent to Jeff. Jeff, the idiot, had forgotten she had his password.
How fortunate for her.
How unfortunate for him.
“Smells delicious, sugar cake!” he called from his study. “My genius cook fiancé is at it again!”
“All for you, my dear,” she called back, smiling pleasantly so the smile could reach her voice and she would sound in a good mood. “Dinner is ready.”
He nearly ran out of his study and sat down at the table. He moved to serve himself and she motioned for him to relax.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You let me serve. You’ve been working so hard on that project, you deserve a little time to relax.”
“Yes,” he said, mournfully. “I’m afraid it’s going to be another full night for me. I can’t wait until this thing is done.”
I bet, she thought, remembering back to that afternoon when she had called his boss and found out that the project had finally been finished and gone through without a hitch earlier that afternoon.
“It’s been rough,” he said with his mouthful, for some reason eating as fast as he could. “It’s been just one thing after another. A bitch of a project.”
Overcompensating, she thought, pitying him for his lies instead of hating him for them.
“My Mia, this is an excellent…” He blinked and swallowed, putting his hand to his stomach.
“It’s soufflé, darling.”
“Yes, soufflé,” he mumbled as a loud, strange noise came from his stomach. “Peach, I think I might have a sensitivity to your-”
He got up from the chair so fast it clattered back on the floor as he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
“Yes,” she said quietly and stood up, “it will be a long night. But not for the reason you thought.”
Poison may be a typical woman’s art, but in that moment, she was happy to be using it. Anyway, poison was only the beginning.
He groaned loudly from the bathroom as she stood outside it. Smiling, she opened the door just enough to roll in the can of air freshener and then closed it again.
So it began. The first step. Revenge best served cold, in a light soufflé.
By Jaime McDougall who posts at Fiction Scribe
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