Posts tagged ‘poetry’
WRITER’S FORUM POETRY WRITERS
WEBSITES HELPFUL TO WRITERS
This is a series of posts which, I think, will be beneficial to writers.
But first, I would like to include my usual warning about using websites.
Whenever you check a website you are, in my opinion and I talk from experience, being put on a list for sale. So, expect the possibility of being bombarded by ads from companies you, perhaps, have never heard of and have no interest in.
By the same token, I feel that once you call a business for information you are also put on a list, for sale, of similar companies to the one you have called.
That’s just how it is in today’s society.
I hope you find the information offered in these posts helpful.
Anyone familiar with my blog is aware of the area, Writer’s Forum, which already offers a host of websites important for writers.
Rattle
Rattle.com
Publishes poetry from established and up-and-coming poets.
Offers quarterly print publications by subscription.
Has a daily blog with previously published poems, audio readings and more.
Has podcasts with poet interviews and livestreams.
INFORMATION FROM A DUOTROPE SEARCH
When I obtain the post for a publisher using a Duotrope search, here is the information I look for.
First on my list is when the publisher was created. I tend to put more trust in a publisher which has been around for a while.
Next is the type of work they are interested in. Along with this, the word count is important. For short stories they may be interested in your genre, but your story may be too long to meet their requirements.
Next I look for whether they accept simultaneous submissions. It seems that lately more and more publishers are accepting them. This is beneficial, for in the past you would send a piece to a publisher and have to wait, sometimes close to a year to receive a reply. Or never get a reply at all. Now you can send your work to multiple publishers at the same time. A definite benefit. Also, you can see if a publisher accepts reprints. This gives you the opportunity to get out some previously published work and give it a new life.
In some, but not all information provided by publishers is the percentage of pieces accepted and how long it took the publisher to reply to a submission. This information could be extremely important in making your decision when sending out your work.
Finally, at the end of a publisher’s post you will find a list of other places where work submitted to this publisher has also been submitted and a direct link to the publishers on this list. Sometimes you may stumble upon a publisher not listed in your search but could be a place which might be interested in your work.
This is the benefit of a Duotrope search.
Give it a try!
WRITER’S FORUM: DUOTROPE
WRITER’S FORUM
DUOTROPE
If you choose not to take the easy path of self-publishing to becoming a published writer, which requires no judge of talent and no gatekeeper, I suggest you look to Duotrope to locate a publisher.
More on my thoughts of self-publishing in a future post.
Duotrope is a fantastic website for locating publishers of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. An annual fee of $50 will gain you access. I primarily seek publishers of fiction and there are thousands listed. You are provided with a questionnaire to fill out for the piece you wish to publish and a search will provide you with a list of potential publishers.
You will find markets which are paying and non-paying, how long the publisher has been in existence and, with some publishers, statistics on acceptance, rejections and response times. A link for each publisher is provided to their website which gives information for making a submission and further information about the publisher.
If you are serious about becoming a published writer with an established publisher I highly recommend that you consider Duotrope.
Here are some links to provide you with information about Duotrope.
Duotrope: A Basic Guide to Using the Site
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART II, A SHORT STORY
Sweats dropped out of high school with his mother’s reluctant permission. He still poured sweat, but now it was the perspiration of passion and emotion while playing his sax, not from fear of his surroundings.
One day, while darting through the neighborhood on an errand, Sweats saw a sign hanging in the window of one of the local run-down clubs. JAZZ MUSICIAN WANTED, proclaimed the placard. Sweats went inside.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning and the place was mostly empty. There were a few customers sitting at the bar nursing their drinks, behavior born from hopeless lives. About a dozen tables were set up, and across from the bar, was a small stage. Behind the bar stood a man washing glasses and preparing for the day’s business. His name was Mac Shorter, a tough looking man who had evidently led an equally tough life. He was the bartender and owner.
Sweats approached him and said, “I’m here about the musician’s job.”
Mac looked up at Sweats, and asked, “How old are you, boy?”
Because of his height Sweats looked older than his sixteen years. “I’m eighteen,” he replied. Eighteen was the minimum age to work in a place that served liquor.
Mac was a keen observer. He rubbed his whiskered chin in disbelief. “What instrument you play?” he asked.
“Alto sax sir, and pretty damn good,” was Sweats response.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Come back with your instrument tonight, about nine o’clock, while the band’s here. We’ll see if you have anything.”
Sweats knew his mother would be working the night shift at the café.
“I’ll be back tonight, sir,” Sweats responded as he made for the door. He knew that tonight he would have to play like he had never played before.
As he was leaving, Mac yelled, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Sweats Connelly, sir.”
Sweats went home and practiced more intensely than ever. By the time he was done his fingers were stiff, but he knew he was right on for the audition. He left a note for his mother saying he would be out late and headed for the club.
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART I, A SHORT STORY
This story was accepted for publication by Toasted Cheese, a literary journal, in April 2010.
The Gig of a Lifetime
Sweats Connelly was having the time of his life. He nodded to the rest of the band and played his heart out. A glowing fog obscured the audience, but he knew they were there listening as he gave them his sweet music.
* * *
Jerome Connelly grew up under the care of his unwed mother on the hard streets of an unforgiving city. His skin was a rich ebony, and from the time of his birth, he was rail-thin with the delicate features of a father he never knew. His nickname was Sweats, a direct result of the mean streets he called home. His friends gave him the name because, even on the coldest winter’s day, Jerome would arrive at school drenched in sweat.
His friends would ask, “Hey man, why you always sweating?”
He would mumble something about running late, wipe his face, and head for class. He couldn’t tell his friends that he was sweating from fear. The walk to school was through streets where drugs were dealt, where people were shot for no reason, where life was cheap and held no promise.
First his friends, then everyone he knew began to call him Sweats Connelly. It wasn’t long before there was no one who called him Jerome, except for his mother.
Sweats began playing sax in his middle school band. He continued to play into his high school years, but alone for his own pleasure. With money earned doing odd jobs, he managed to buy a used alto sax, which quickly became his most prized possession and his only close friend. Hours spent playing in the safe solitude of his bedroom sharpened his skills. He was good, and with time to focus on his playing, he knew he could be a lot better. Now sixteen, Sweats felt he was wasting his time in class. He had discovered the meaning of his life and none of the classes he took furthered that purpose.
Sweats returned to the small apartment he called home one day after school and carefully closed and locked the door. His mother, Martha, suspecting that something was bothering her son for some time now, asked him, “What’s wrong Jerome? You just not yourself lately.”
“Mom, I can’t take this shit anymore.”
“You watch your tongue,” his mother warned.
“Okay, I can’t take school anymore. I ain’t learnin’ nothin’. I want to play my sax, that’s all. I’m good Mom, and someday I could make some real money.”
Jerome’s mother bristled when he talked about dropping out of school. “I want you to do something with your life, Jerome. Not be like the bums you see everywhere on these streets.”
Martha said to her son, “It’s against my better judgment, school is important…
“I know mom, but playing my sax is important to me. I promise to get my GED, but I need time to practice.
“Oh, Baby,” cooed Martha.
Sweats knew he had her.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY
MY ATTEPT AT WRITING POETRY
I think, in the remote passages of my brain, I have always wanted to be a writer. There was something about holding a pencil and recording ideas and stories I found appealing.
I eventually chose science as a career. But long before I knew science was the path I would follow, I began writing. My first attempt at writing was poetry and had my first poem published while in high school. I wrote a poem for acceptance in a high school poetry anthology. My friends thought it was a good poem, but my English teacher did not. She changed the end of the poem to something I thought ruined it, but it was published.
While in college and beyond I continued and continue to write poetry. I had quite a few poems published by little-known publishers in even lesser-known publications. One publisher published at least one poem of mine in a yearly anthology for fourteen years. While publishing poetry I adhered to a principle I continue to this day. I will never pay to have something I have written published.
I now write science fiction and horror and have for the last twenty-three years, and still, the occasional poem.
What follows will be a series of published poems.
Hope you find some enjoyment in them.
SNOW, A WINTER POEM
I offer this poem, for obvious reasons, when it snows. In the area of Pennsylvania where I live, we have just had our first measurable snow in almost two years. So, it’s time has once again arrived.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
THE SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, waiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring intensely waits,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
LATEST PUBLICATION: CEMETERY MOON
I thought I would pass along a link to the Cemetery Moon website.
My story is in issue 14. I would like you to read it, but more importantly, I would like you to support the small presses printing words sometimes lost in the wilderness.
POEMS & FLEETING THOUGHTS
Looking Back,
Have you ever
Wished
You were young
Again,
With what
You know
Now?
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