The Eve Eve

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No doubt the countdown has begun for most of the Gregorian calendar changeover, or what we also dub as a great excuse for a long weekend. So, I feel compelled to suck out a few minutes of your life and have you read this. Okay, really, it’s totally you’re fault. I haven’t said anything to make you vacate this virtual space, not yet anyway, not at least until the latest tweet distracts you, your kid pulls at your leg, or Morpheus calls you. I’m not sure what he calls you, but I’m sure it’s something good.

I’m just compelled to fill space, I guess, compelled to end the year with another blog notch to add to my non-existent blog belt, unless you count the stats and all things that track who’s following you, and all those wonderful “they love me!” widgets that applaud your ego, Klout and Kred, and all things social media juicy.

It is juicy, isn’t it. This –right here– this is what I have in the past called e-crack, and if I bothered to track it down, I’d find the video proving how it all stimulates all the right everything in our brains that it practically is a drug. Oh, the brain!!! I don’t know a thing about it, except that I have one, and that it works (most of the time), and can be fairly creative at times, but that falls flat if my secretary doesn’t show up for work. It’s weird. She has the same name I do.

You got that, did you? Emphasis on snarky. Ya. And, I’m not writing grammatically correct either in some of these sentences!! Fragments, repeated words…and a bunch of other geeky editorial stuff that wouldn’t mean much to most, but is well stored between my ears, filed under “Pet Peeves”.

The year is at a close and my To Do list is longer. I suppose that’s a good thing, only it all seems more daunting. Yes, yes, baby steps. Got that point. The problem with being creative (it’s a problem???) is that you’re interested in so many things, start a whole heck of a lot of projects, and if you’re lucky, the ten percent rule applies –you finish 10% of your projects. That would be faring rather well, in my books. Your books, if you’re more organized, should bode better.

A blog is a start. It’s that pin prick in your side that says “Hey, don’t forget about me!! You have followers now. An audience! Don’t forget about them. They’ll feel all sad, and hungry for words, those poor starving readers.” With great blogging, comes great responsibility. There is no guilt trip, rather, and I’d like to stay positive on this one, a look-forward-to. Yes, that’s a compound noun ending in a preposition. Creative licence. Writers can do that. They make stuff up all the time, change the rules, bend them a little. So many occasions require it, unless you’re in academia –different story.

Story. It’s all about story. Whether here, or as tweets, or novels. You have one. And here’s where I circle back to the whole celebrating the new year, and hoorah horrah, auld lang syne, sip some champagne (or mock, if that’s your style), and cheer to the hopes and aspirations we list, like the typical losing weight, look prettier, make more money…the generic goals that lose themselves in the minutiae of our lives’ routines somewhere around January second or third. Insert applause here if you make it to mid-month. Have another party if they last until February. Whatever you do, it’s your story. They’re your goals. And that you’ve read this far, yeehah!, I’ve just made one of mine.

Happy New Year, readers!!

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Poetic Bantering –Who Knew?

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The art of poetry lies in the mind of the writer. True. Also, it’s in the mind of the reader, and no less true is the art invoked by hands over keyboard in the reduced space of a hundred and forty characters, give or take.

In Twitter, poetry lives. Poetry lives!! Twitter’s not all a mish-mash of promotional broadcasts, or a link to the latest cat funny going viral. Twitter has spawned poets, and the poetics that live inside some reluctant writers. Poetry lives as #sixwords or as #micropoetry in Twitter, to name two active hashtags.

I’m a fan of poetry. Love it. Love its pages and pages of prose like Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven down to the six word challenges that are alive and well in the streams of the Twitterverse. Poems come in all shapes and sizes, but how interesting is it that poetry rallies its survival in so few words, yet packs a powerful punch. The organics of language amazes. That’s the beauty of poetry, isn’t it.

And here’s what I didn’t expect. Poetic banter. Anything can become a conversation, but poetic banter? What is that?

I tweet mini poems. Two lines isn’t a lot, but that reduced space hones the essence of what needs to be said –not much different that regular tweets, except you need to squeeze in so much more, I think. That’s exactly the challenge.  I got a reply one day, only it was a poetic reply. Nothing cooler than that. I get high on just a response, but this got my poetic senses tingling. It begged for a one-upper, and soon my lyrical and prosaic passions were on a roll. Like a ping pong of poeticized dialogue, this continued for a few tweets. What’s really neat is that this is amongst several followers, and we do this: poetically converse. Who knew? And it’s so much fun.

Writers often need solitude to write; they fiercely protect it, and many times we writers live up to the stereotype of the one person, and the typewriter, now laptop, and a desk, in an empty room, like a cabin in the woods or something, but it’s this very thing of bantering that gets a writer’s brain back on track, to refuel ideas and re-energize against what we often fear that isn’t even there, some call it writer’s block –a mythos betraying writers all, but that’s another post, and I promised a Twitter follower I’d write that post, which I have, and that’s to follow this one.

Want to try some poetic banter? Find me @writer_at_play.