Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

307128_2004597721976_903515904_nDiscordant notes plucked on steel strings

Falling in perfect syncopation to his

broken heart’s rhythm

He brushes and strokes

her wooden, stoic face –

Searching desperately for perfect pitch

And balanced harmonies

between hurt and healing

hope and helplessness

Listening carefully to the timbre

and tone of her raised voice

Hearing the resonance

hang thick in the air

Only to dissipate slowly

Fading long after the last

words he wanted to say

Became the words she

put into play.

*Photo used with the permission of Doug Romig. Doug is a friend and fellow writer. You can find his work here: www.dougromig.com

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The Taste of Poetry

Posted: August 7, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

sugar-addict_0Poetry is heart song put to paper.
It isn’t judged by the container it comes in,
or the label slapped onto the side of that container,
but by the contents awaiting inside.

What is sweet to others
may taste salty
or bitter
to you.

It is a present to unwrap,
crack open, and
consume to your heart’s desire.

 

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It isn’t often I run out of things to say. However, this time I thought I’d step aside and let someone else share the space on my blog. There’s plenty to go around–I just have to move a few pieces of furniture around first and make way for my guest writer. Maybe fix us a pitcher of margaritas to share, too–I believe in being a gracious hostess.


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Doug Romig lives in Knoxville, TN where he enjoys writing, hiking in the Smoky Mountains and spending time with his sons. He has written two novels – Angelcide and New Fallen – and two short stories in The Spiritscape Chronicles and one novel in the Abby Chilton series called Shrink. He also has a novella with his anti-hero – Ian Edos – called Cryptos: ICE. His blog and information about his book and upcoming projects can be found at http://dougromig.com.

I Write, Therefore I Am

It takes a strong person to look deep within themselves and ask the tough questions like: Is this all there is? What is the meaning of life? Why do I write? If a man speaks in the forest and there’s no woman to hear him, is he still wrong? Just so you know, most men will answer “yes” to that last question as long as there is a woman nearby who he wants to see naked sometime soon. I have a feeling that Heidi Klum always hears “yes” whenever men are around her. The first two questions have simple answers: No, there is more than this, but I am not deep enough to figure it out. The meaning of life is 42 according to Douglas Adams.

Now for the tough one. Why do I write? The simple answer is: it’s cheaper than therapy. The complicated answer will take a little longer. For years I have dabbled in writing short things that I shared with a select few people. Some of them were deep. Some were just meant to make them laugh. The best ones did both.

As I was struggling with my identity following my divorce, I went to see a counselor. He made the off the wall observation that I was closed off from others and would only allow them to see what I wanted. My response: “Yes. So what’s your point?” He asked if I had ever considered sharing my thoughts, feelings, hopes and fears with others. My response: “You want me to share my feelings? Okay. I FEEL one of us is crazy here. I think it’s you.”

After a few more sessions and a few more payments, I began to consider that he might be right. Maybe I could find a way to share what was going through my mind with others in a safe setting. That was when I discovered blogging. Sharing my thoughts with strangers I will never meet sounded good.

Some of my earlier blogs were really dark and a little negative. In my defense, writing about my struggles with divorce was better than plotting vengeance on my ex-wife that involved fire ants, a funnel and vat of hickory-smoked cottage cheese. As time passed, the blogs became more upbeat, as did my life.

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Then it happened. One day I was sitting at the computer, looking at a story I was playing with about an angel taking a vacation on earth. It was going to be his walkabout as he looked at all the horror and terrible things that happen every day. I actually said, “That is way too damned depressing.”

Then I thought, what if I have him hang out with a funky human? Oddly enough, that character was amazingly simple to conjure from my twisted side. I let my imagination go and came as close to a man can come to giving birth. He said and did the things that were a funhouse mirror of my identity. This is how Zeke and Tone from The Spiritscape Chronicles were born.

I spent several months creating a world inside my vivid imagination for them to explore—then let it turn into a series of mysteries only they could solve. When the book – Angelcide – was done, it sat on my computer for several months while I tried to decide what to do with it.

While Angelcide was fermenting in my mind, I thought I’d like to write something more earthly. Five minutes later, Abby Chilton, FBI profiler extraordinaire, was on the screen and growing into something new. It was while I was writing about this psychologist that I realized why I was doing this. It is what I am. I like to write.

There are countless stories that flow around in my mind, waiting to come out. A writer is someone who does not have a choice. A writer must write. Even if the stuff that they write that day is total crap, it still has to be written because it may be the fertilizer needed to grow something beautiful.

Besides, when I don’t write, I get a headache and that makes me cranky. When I get cranky my creativity turns to dark thoughts of world domination using exploding manatees and tubas playing heavy metal. I guess it’s better that I write.

headache


 

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