Art and Poem: Mystery Writer

MysteryWriter

Hello, old friend,

did you get my invitation?

Colonel Mustard in the library

with the revolver.

In a locked room,

the pen scrawls one word,

RACHE.

The game is afoot.

Follow me,

read my adventures

if you dare

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

Writers' Groups: Yes, No, Maybe?

My first experience with a writer's group nearly made me swear off writing altogether. Five of us, all of different styles and temperaments, met in a farmhouse kitchen in Charlottesville, VA, with manuscripts in hand. Two were published writers in Virginia Civil War History, one had hopes of promoting her family memoir, and the last person---me---had little experience in the "real world of publishing." Two hours later, I wanted to give up writing altogether. The various pieces of "sage advice" were enough to drive me to drink, and my short stories hung in rags, torn apart to shreds by non-constructive criticism.


The senior member of the group monopolized the meeting with his long, drawn-out lecture about his ideas on finding a agent. I excused myself and left, and never came back. The traumatic experience spooked me for a long time. It drove my writing "underground": I never introduced myself as a writer and hid all my work.


Now I look back on it as a learning experience. A writer needs support from other writers, both professionally and personally. Yes, this is a good way to network, find out about agents and publishers, and promote yourself and your writing. When you share your rough drafts, an objective (and gently critical) eye helps you improve your content and style. What techniques do others use to get through the slow days? How do they stay motivated? Can they share any anecdote to help you avoid a pothole in the road of publication?


A writers's group can build up or tear down a novice. The make-up of the members is critical. Diversity adds spice to the interaction; if one person dominates the conversation, it defeats the purpose of a writer's group. A writer with his/her own axe to grind cannot help anyone else. There has to be some give and take. How can someone improve their prose? A critical eye is important, but temper it with at least one good thing to say. Any writer's ego can be bloodied and bruised, especially a new one.


I actually did stop writing for a while after that traumatic writer's group. Several months later, I found the courage to take up the pen again. I became more selective with whom to share my work and found others that were willing to be open-minded and offer the support I needed. With today's social media, including Twitter, Facebook, Skype, and MySpace, it is easier to find other writers and keep in touch with them.


Reach out and connect with other writers, but use your good judgment and discretion in doing so. It will be a rewarding experience for you and all involved.

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

Roadblocks to Writing and How To Bust Through Them

Today, I'm stuck in a bit of a rut where writing's concerns. It's hard to find the motivation to get anything done, especially when my health has gone wonky, the weather's yucky, and the kids are acting nutty. One way to bust through the blocks is the list all the excuses you've got for not writing and counter them.


Here are mine for today:


1) My hands hurt like anything. My muscles ache and I just feel blah.


Okay, five minutes. Just five minutes about anything, even if it's just to complain about how bad you feel. It'll make you feel better.


2) The weather's yucky.


Writing doesn't care if the weather's yucky or sunny.


3) The kids are acting nutty.


Act nutty with them. They might inspire you to write something...when they get to their naps.


4) Laptop's throwing a fit.


Use the upstairs desktop. Or pen and paper.


5) Internet's down. Can't do any research.


Go to the library. Look up notes the old fashioned way. Take notes. That's a form of writing.


6) I feel like doing art.


OK, do art, then come back to the writing. Or even better, combine art and writing.


7) Hubby's complaining that I don't spent enough time with him.


Spend time with him. Then write. (In my case, Hubs' definition of "spending time together" consists of him watching reruns and me just being in the room. In that case, I use that time to write.)


8) I'm too tired.


Take a nap. Or two. Or three.  Then write.


The list varies day by day, but somehow, I try to write despite all the blocks. It's not easy, and sometimes I'm not very successful. The times I am successful are steps toward my writing goal...which seems closer and closer. What are some roadblocks that stand between you and writing?

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

Art and Poem: Angel of Mercy

Angel of Mercy

The warrior for life looks up at the night sky

and thanks God and whoever else is watching

that lives were saved this day.

The war is not done,

it is far from won,

but every little battle

that ends in triumph is a

victory for humankind.

"Please grant me the  power to save,

the power to heal, to comfort,

and if this be my last day on Earth,

let me rest with the memory

that I did all I could to  ease

another one's suffering in the night

and the memory that I did what

my calling destined me to do."

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

Does Writing Age Like a Fine Wine?

I've spent the weekend digging through my old writing notebooks, some dating back more than 10 years. I'm amazed at all the writing I've done that I've long forgotten about. At the time, I just dashed off these little poetry/short story snippets without too much thought. Words scribbled between teaching classes, grading papers at the local coffeehouse, and waiting for the city bus at the stop. The years of my student teaching were grueling, with hardly any time to breathe. (the first one was in languages/ESL for undergrad. The second was in a 5th grade classroom, all subjects for masters). Writing was a necessary outlet to preserve my sanity.


As I look back at these pages, I can remember the circumstances of each piece. My health has always been up-and-down, with constant infections and other problems. It wasn't until I was formally diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis in 2006 that many of the incidents made sense. This poem was written on June 1, 2001:

The pain makes me tremble.

It pierces with dull blades

Sharp when water flows.

It burns my blood.

When my mind is clouded,

my body becomes a rod

attracting all kids of thoughts.

My back feels heavy,

my legs sting.

The hornets hide in every crevice

And poke with awful sting.

My soul stands up against it,

saying, "No, you don't,

Not this time."

But the shell I occupy

turns traitor.

And I crumble with little strength.

I rebel against my fate

And bear the agony alone,

Hiding the ashes within my throat,

Withering slowly within my heart.

---RAD 6/1/01

I'm amazed at how relevant those feelings are to me, nearly ten years later, and how powerful they remind me of that time of my life. Here's another one, written the same year, when I was angry at my husband. We'd been married 5 years at this point:

An idiot

knows he's an idiot.

A smart idiot

bites his tongue

till it bleeds.

But a genius idiot

dies a death

of a cold hell

where he rambles on

to an audience of one:

himself.

---RAD 7/16/01

Again, I'm struck at the relevance of this poem at the time and now. This was before we had our children, and two of our three children's diagnosis of moderate/severe autism. It wasn't until much later that I realized my husband had all the signs of Aspberger's Syndrome (high-functioning autism), which includes brilliance in certain areas (in his case, computers), but difficulty in relating to others' thoughts and feelings.

I'll close with one more short poem, about trying to find who you are.

Finding yourself in a mirror,

is such an easy thing to do.

Your image warped

beyond recognition.

Good in place of evil---

Perfect lines blurred.

Yet which one is the right one?

The crisp reflection of everyday life?

Or the shadows hidden within?

---RAD 3/11/00

Writers, when you look at your old manuscripts, what do you see? Can you remember the time and place when you wrote it? Can you remember how you felt at the time? Look back, you'd be surprised.

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

Original Flash Fiction: A Walk on the Beach

Flash Fiction= less than 100 words

A Walk on the Beach.

The gray skies of dawn, the cool crisp smell of seafoam and brine. The breeze whipped the ocean like cotton candy. I blinked in the cloudy haze and tried to get my bearings. Yes, the bridge is this way. I stepped onto the cool sand, my bare feet sinking into the wetness. My toes shivered, but as I made my way to the shoreline, they stopped trembling.

I pulled the hood of my windbreaker more securely over my head as the goosebumps popped on my flesh.

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010

New Facebook Page: I Gotta Write Community

Now there's a page on Facebook connected with the blog, here: I Gotta Write Community Page. Stop on by and say hi on the Discussion Page! If you are a writer, artist, or all-around creative person (who is all of us!), you're definitely welcome! If you also have a blog, website or Facebook/MySpace page and would like to exchange links, please let me know and I'll add you to the IGW! main page.


Thanks,
Annie

All writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2010