It’s the silence we all dread
Nothing can express the pain more than a look
Political types spew nothing, but diatribe and vitriol
There is no way aside from forward
This isn’t normal, nor is it a wish of any, but the demented and dillusional
All the wishes every man and woman could utter can never replace the day
Forgiveness is a forgone conclusion, none should have to bare more
Nor be slaves to pain, anger and vengeance
There is no triumph in tragedy
No victory in loss
All anyone can ask is;
May this never be again.
Innocence and promise will never lose out or be taken away, not on our watch
This should be our guiding principle
Tis a far better thing we do, live to propagate understanding and cooperation, problem solving
Life is too previous to cast away for a cause or make unwilling sacrifices just to keep a cycle of misery alive
All right, I’m off my version of a soap box…
Next time will be a brighter note, or so I hope
~ The Pirate Poet
Essentially, on Tuesday, I shall be a year older officially. Just a notation in a long life I suppose. How I celebrate is a mystery to me. On the other hand, I should at least make it as special as possible.
Perhaps, I’ll have take away Chinese? Or maybe, I’ll be into something fried or Mexican?
I promised myself that I would do try for a film that day, maybe splurge on something fun. Truthfully, I wish that I could host some friends on that day. I miss the comradery and jovial atmosphere.
However, I’ve found that unless I’m an in person – those wishes are pipe dreams.
But I digress…
Editing on some short stories I’d love to be illustrated or filmed as an episode for the web are basically done. I do need to write or rewrite one or two more stories and then complete the epic Camden’s Follies 3rd book and edit the living Dickens out of it!
So, for now …
Live Long, Prosper and may Abundance, Fortune and Great Luck ever find you
~ The Pirate Poet
I’ve caught all the negatives, the warnings and bad forebodings about independent publishing. I even read some tripe about how the big publishers put out 50k books a day. Yes, I called it tripe!
That doesn’t even include the idea that the author, an editor – self proclaimed I’d say – claimed to be a fan of the subject he was editing and that made him uniquely qualified to tell everyone else how it’s done.
All I can say to that man is – RUBBISH! BALDERDASH! HOAKEM!
Big companies cookie cutter the life out of a subject – they don’t produce 50k books a day, but 1 book 50k times with new proper nouns. But I digress…
Part of the reason I’m on my own is creative control. I’m a writer and not a carbon copy of my associates, friends and professional relations. Too many editors rarely actually read a manuscript, no sir. In my day you had to thoroughly read all material thrice! The first time to get an idea of what the story is about. The second to get the pacing and the third is to locate the inconsistencies, grammar/spelling errors where applicable.
The job is NOT to critique, but to work with the artist so readers can understand sentences, paragraphs and pages sans a translator or confusion.
How a story is to be told is SOLELY the province of the author! You can’t tell a story how to be told if it insists it works best in a certain perspective. Period.
Another part is the fact that rarely, if at all, will the publishers actually cover the expenses of the writer who actually has to plug their work on their on – despite the big company having and army of marketers. In other words, if I have to do it all – why do I need them?
Next, I can’t afford to pay a solicitor/lawyer a chunk of my earnings for him or her doing little to nothing. I did take business law in tertiary school as well as criminal law – Why would I need a stuffed shirt that’s over paid for?
True, in the independent arena, the earnings aren’t great, but they’re better than paying a do nothing publisher who only is responsible for printing your work out into a physical reading material piece… or something like that.
Another added nail in the editors coffin – I understand rejection. I understand it quite well. However, an editor is in NO position to tell me what’s marketable and what isn’t period. I point to the examples of big publishing failures starting with Mary Shelley and ending currently with J.K. Rowling.
Do note that I consider the likes of Twilight and Eragon pure RUBBISH designed to pander to those young readers who were in limbo after Harry Potter. I find it very distasteful on the big boys part as there are thousands of writers of higher quality who DON’T use cut and paste and tripe for filler and call it a story, thanks very much.
How can these people make such melodramatic claims of no appreciable new content to put out when they snub all the quality every day?
This leads to the marketing axe to grind. Don’t tell me what DOES and DOESN’T sell!!! Especially on the American side of the pond with their mood rings, pet rocks, chia pets and Stephanie Meyer!!
Touching on the creative freedom side again;
I like being able to pick and choose which tales to write up and sell. I believe in the reading public more than I believe in some slighted or heavily biased poll where answers are ignored.
So, once again, why go to a corporation when I can go directly to my reading audience and let them have direct say? I know I’ll never sell out – especially to those who ignored, called me unproven or unmarketable, or just scoffed saying this is not what the readers of the world want.
This may sound of the purist, but I believe you should tell the story in your heart and not the one on a marketing board of a big publisher. Does it cost to get work out? When hasn’t it? For the independent writer and artist there’s more control and a better reason to use your education to its fullest.
I know this may seemed a bit scattered and repetitive at times, but when it comes to writing – sometimes you need to repeat yourself as so much is intertwined.
For now, peace and good reading to all!
~ yours truly The Pirate Poet
Been a while, no real rant this time – just musing. In another two weeks a birthday of mine comes. No fanfare, celebrations planned and I even get to buy my own card for mum to sign as she can’t work on the computer of hers for anything, but letters.
In the past, not so distant, I actually got to make a day of it, my birthday. However, the older I got, the more distance seemed to arise between the people I called friends and myself. Physical distance, temporal and even just plain growing apart due to how busy we’ve all been.
It’s become another day in the life and not even a packet of biscuits with a candle! I do have some choices; Films – in cinema or on disc, a not so fancy dinner with pizza or take away Chinese and of course the tried and true go to event – type and play cards on the computer as I compose a short story, finish a novelization or poem.
I know on the poetry end I should compose a few more dark variety for the third collection. I can also make a day of working on corel draw photo shop or whatever it’s called and make my cover for ” Elder Offensive ” or even do something for part 1, book 1 of Camden’s Follies.
Still, how life got so convoluted, busy and stressful that I can’t even grant myself a day of rest and revelry is beyond me. I guess I’ll make mum feel better at some point and make brownies for that or some other day or maybe even pretend to enjoy the single card I receive from my cousin(s) before going out to research the last of my story I need to write up. There’s always a tale to be told – definitely more exciting than mine so it seems.
I guess there’s always Christmas or some other time of the year I can force myself to splurge on me and tell the world to go away while I rested and had a little fun. Perhaps, it would be the day I get my flat in Edinburgh settled? Or maybe when I can grab a smoking pipe, a glass of the good stuff and, with my cat on my lap, watch the sun go down or something simple that most would call boring.
I’ll finish my read edits and final chapter for part 12 of Camden’s Follies for this round of writing. Prepare to be keel hauled by Kindle or Nook and just smile as my author’s table will have something other than anime this time.
Bitter? Not at all. I’m too old it seems to dwell too much on such things. Sad, maybe. However, hindsight being what it is, I should have seen this coming since my 27th birthday oh so long ago.
Anyway a little poem to see us off and all, eh?
The metronome of my life, a clock on the wall
Old fashioned and dusty – bit like myself
Is it me or has the world shifted from colour to black and white?
Mornings are rote for the most part, sans the cats
There was a time when I had morning repast, er, breakfast
Now, only on unusual days
So, though I never even hum it, I carry my song of the day in mind
Walking without purpose, planning the dreams of yesterday
Squeezing time as best I can
Never a dull moment, but few are they that hold more than a passing smile
I would reckon my birthday is nigh
Easy to see as the days seem to slow more than normal and the quiet is a crescendo
Another year has passed, a day as any other comes and will retreat in the rear view
As any day of mine, looking back briefly at the road travelled
Have I traversed so far already?
I raise my cup of ambition, pet my cat and hug mum
To the toils of the day and who knows?
Maybe today I try the cheesecake