Ranting to let off steam and gain perspective…

Why do I back or support the artists that I do?

© 2017 Jon Corres Pirate Poet

This, without a doubt, has been one of the nagging questions I’ve ever pondered. The good and bad news is – bad news first – that 2/3 of the folk I did try and support initially turned out to be mainly rubbish. I mention this first as the 1/3 that I find more than laudable and I still promote on numerous occasions are still as brilliant as ever! Also, mentioning the bad before the good makes the good even better in comparison.

The Bad ( if not outright ugly beyond description) – This 2/3 is made up of 90% egotistical, if not downright blinded by narcissism, people whose fans are made up of monosyllabic, catch – phrase ridden late teen to mid 30’s aged folk.

Mind you, I’m not speaking of an entire population in that age group.

I know one young lady – a twenty something – who would rather have her blood sucked out by leeches or tied to a chair and made to listen to all the speeches of Theresa May for an entire week without relent rather than read or view half this tripe I write of. Mainly made of catch phrases, bait lines and tag lines are the stories I refer to. Art in the form of a more visual media is nothing more than carbon copies with no real dimensions to them – never mind the musical expression where it sounds like a dying cat killing a pigeon.

It is said that American English is a pale copy of it’s progenitor British English. Well, I can honestly tell you that that is being overly kind! I still recall how, in France for example, there are signs that say “ English spoken, American understood.”. The grammar, I have no idea where their concept came from, the Americans – never mind the vocabulary.

Even the comments on the web page that’s for reviews is monosyllabic, anagrams and generally more tosh and waffle than actual comments on the work. This consists of ” Squees”,  ” OMG” and of course a boat load of over used ” so”, “like” and ” awesome” .

Trust me, if I decided to pull out the steel claws and let some of these so called authors and artists have it full bast  – I would have to write several review blogs of 10 pg’s minimal each! That’s how surgically precise I can cut this nonsense to shreds…

Now, on to the good…
The Good – This is the group I refer to as artistry unbound! For story telling, there are no media too good or not good enough. From anime to the written word – all means of expression are on the table and nothing is discounted or dismissed. No genre is anything shy of a challenge and a labour of love.
They tell the stories they mean to in the manner that it comes to them. They draw and paint from their heart – even with a subject in mind – and make it their own unique expression. People like Sam Stone, Sam Knight, Chaz Kemp and his missus Carolyn; They make me feel inspired and energised with their wide variety of work and depth of artistic impression.

… more next blog

Till next time…
The Pirate Poet

More questions than answers ~ truly, we’d love to hear the answers!

Okay, my American, Brit, Scot and Irish mates and fans – this is for you! Yes, you the cosplay people out here… Message me the answers and try to keep the candour to something above the gutter… honestly, I do know about freedom of speech. I also know there are better ways to phrase one’s self…
Here are the Enquiries!

What was the performance or show/film that inspired your first costume?

Would you prefer to Act, Cosplay or be a Designer – if you had to choose?

What would be your most challenging piece to bring to life?

What is your go – to fabric in a pinch?

Would you recommend subscribing to a sewing or costume creating magazine – which one if so and why?

What was the best and the worst audience you ever encountered?

Could anyone pigeon hole you into a category – say, actress, model, cosplayer, etc. or would you just refer to yourself as an artist?

I’ve noted that you both have done some writing. Is it just short stories or do you think you’d try your hand at or have written a novel/novella, etc. ?

What is your favourite period piece?

Who is the character you’ve always wanted to try, but haven’t had any time to explore?

Have you ever found inventing a character more fun that duplicating one?

Is there someone in your field or fields whom you refer to in times of need of knowledge or guidance?

What would make you hang up your hat and do something different?

Have you ever taught a class in this subject and if so did you learn anything new?

What has been the best/worst critique of your presentations?

Okay! Next will be the artist – painter/drawer/etc..

What would you consider a defining artist who influenced you?

Is there ever a project you felt too overwhelmed to attempt?

Pictures and paintings are worth a 1000 words. That being said, what words in story, poetry or a given speech have launched your imagination in to high gear with multiple renditions/drawings/paintings?

As you learned from either classroom or observation; What was your the lesson that stuck with you the longest?

I understand hands and feet are tough to draw/render. What would be the one body part you find a real challenge?

If you could describe your style, what word or phrase comes to mind?

What would you change, if you could or wanted to, about your working habits when you begin a piece?

Does it ever seem that you draw a blank on any given subject and find yourself pacing or doing something to get your mind going?

Would there be anyone or any subject you would simply never try to work for or render?

What is your favourite medium to work in?

Please: a nom de plume only for publishing if you wish your answers up…
Until next time ~

The Pirate Poet

an interlude.. and a couple of questions for my creative friends…

So ~

I’m trying to get my act together for a Vol. 2 of Hearts and Scales… also hoping not to drive Carol, my publisher, up a tree or round the twist. I shall be writing a series of stories for the blog – one is a follow up on Lor’afa the short I wrote for a Willow Raven submission…
Here is the story in question I’m building on..


© 2015 Jon Corres Pirate Poet

The Hoverat or hover chariot stood motionless over the sand dune. A trading and space port stood pristine and vibrant over the spot that once held a stone keep. The fortress fell a decade prior, and at a cost that young princes Lor’afa felt was too dear. Her eyes stung with bitter tears as the vision of the captain of her guard lay dead before her in the burnt out rubble crossed her mind.

Silently, she cursed herself for being so callous, unfeeling and cruel to such an honourable young man. Despite Jora’l’s consistent efforts at being kind, considerate and loyal she had treated him worse than a slave. That tragic day, it had dawned on her as she was being led away from the battle. Jora’l had saved her from a great support beam from falling on her after a cannon round found the inner citadel. He laid her down between her other personal guard after running her through near white hot fire to get her to safety. He declared the others to stay with her until her father could arrive with relief and then only move if the structure began to weaken. Jora’l then ran back into the inferno to buy time for the small group to be rescued.

That was the last time she saw him alive. He chanced one final look in her direction. Was it resignation in his eyes did she see? For what seemed an eternity the princess saw a glimpse of the inner pain that her protector carried within. Then, he disappeared and she found herself being forcefully held back and carried in the direction of the delivery doors.

The rest, as she adjusted her Hoverat, was a blur of activity she thought she’d never should have survived. Admittedly, it was a small raid by an overly ambitious prince. On the other hand, it was a diversion for a larger force of arms that her father, King Olan’m was grimly prepared for. Skiffs and other craft arrived within moments of her being escorted from the besieged fortress.

She was covered in soot and was coughing for all the smoke, but still she held out hope for Jora’l. There was a lot between them, but the least she could do was be sure she thanked him properly. It never occurred to the pampered princess just how deep the captain of her guard felt for her till after the siege.

Lor’afa ignored the pleas of her beleaguered remaining guards and made for the ruins. She could see her father’s advanced guard and his personal battle wagon coming across the desert sea as she carefully made for the citadel that Jora’l had made for. Near the top that was now sitting five stories lower in the sand she found her gallant knight.

His eyes were fixed upon his right hand as his left lay across his lap. It was clear he had passed some time earlier. His quarry, the power mad prince was pinned against the wall with a sword through his heart. A permanent look of shock, anger and fear in his eyes. Then, slowly, as she leaned over to see if Jora’l was dead she noticed what was in his clenched right hand. Gently, she removed the item and found to her shock and amazement that it was a favour she herself had given him years ago! Lor’afa stayed frozen as the memories, mostly bad, came flooding back to her.

All the recollections of times she acted like a pompous twit and treated him worse than a mere slave assailed her like darts hurled by an angry hunter. What crushed her was when she looked into Jora’l’s dead eyes.

There were tears! He knew his time had come and all he could think of was her. That was the sadness and resignation she witnessed before he died. This scared veteran, a man who looked much older than his years, had cared so much for her that he was willing to take the mistreatment and cruelty just to be at her side. It had never occurred to Lor’afa to see him such a light. His bravery, honour and courage – all devoted to her out of unrequited love.

All that price paid and all he had to show for it was a kerchief. This was the lesson her mother spoke of and that Jora’l had hinted to in the past. She found herself gently kissing his cheek before sitting back on her feet and crying like a baby for what seemed for ever. Some time later, Lor’afa knew she had been helped to her feet, to meet her father who was concerned for her.

She steadied herself and ignored hand maids, her weak fiancée and the doctors to walk directly to Olan’m. The conversation was brief and Lor’afa had it burned in her memory. She thrust the bloodied and lightly burnt favour at him.

Did you know this? All this time? Why didn’t you tell me?! WHY?!”

The king locked eyes with his bereaved daughter. He shifted in his own blood stained and charred armour uncomfortably before waving aside his attendants and quieting the throng around him and answering as calmly and gently as possible.

Some lessons must be learnt the hard way. We both tried – Jora’l and I, as did your mother, but you wouldn’t or weren’t ready to hear it or learn it for yourself. Your stubborn mentality, borne from me I believe, was never really tempered with your mother’s kindness. There were times when Jora’l and I would have loved to have shaken you or do something to awaken you to your plight. However, I, as he knew, couldn’t force you to do something or acknowledge anything you were against doing.”

He paused to quell his urge to both cry and scream. “ As a parent, I had to let you make choices – decisions – for yourself. They were your problems and you had to grow up to see the solutions for what they were. I could never have helped you and it wouldn’t have been fair to you if I had. I have to say I am as devastated by the loss of Jora’l as you are; More so as he was the finest protector of your personal guard. Not to mention, he was the closest to a son that I had ever had! Yes, I knew he loved you – deeply. That cloud over your eyes, it worried us both to death. All I am going to say is; If you really did or do care about Jora’l, then you’ll become the woman and leader he, your mother and I all know you are! Don’t let this sacrifice be in vane! Now go and let the healers and doctors see to you. There are many who lost their lives today and as much as I’d like to mourn, I am a king, first and foremost.”

Ten years and those words still stung and haunted her. Ten long years and finally Lor’afa had found the courage to come back. She wanted to scream to the heavens for the divine pantheon to give her back her true love. Once more, as a decade prior, she found herself on her knees in tears. She never married the popinjay. Her heart had found what it sought and would never let it go till she passed on. She found her strength once more, stood and as she looked up she could swear she saw Jora’l standing on a nearby dune. His coal black eyes were softened by a kind smile that played over a well cropped beard. The image nodded sadly at her and pointed to its heart. Before it faded from view, the spirit of Jora’l bowed one final time and disappeared.


Now for my creative followers ~

When you write, does it seem like your study becomes a chart room with tonnes of papers all over the place?

Have you ever written the same paragraph or sentence twice while fighting fatigue?

What genre do you like – aside from your chosen one – that you’d like to excel in?

What was the story that caused you to believe you turned the corner or finally cracked your genre?

On the previous note, which was the one that made you cringe the most?

That’s all for now… unless someone can convince me to put up Elder offensive chapters…

Cheers and Great Fortune for you ALL!


The Pirate Poet
















































































The Pirates Corner – Discussion with Author Travis Heerman

Well true believers and jut those bored or truly interested in what goes on in a proverbial burgeoning author/poet’s life, trials an tribulations  ~
Here is the first of many discussions with a few of my Author friends. Today, I feature Travis Heermann, author of the widely popular Series: The Ronin Trilogy


Pirate’s Corner ~

  1. What was it that drew you to your artistic calling?

I remember writing and drawing my own comic books when I was in elementary school. My mom unearthed some of those and gave them to me, so I have a boxful of Doctor Strange, Iron Man, Conan, and Star Wars rip-offs. I was consumed by stuff like D&D, Thundarr the Barbarian, Star Trek, all kind of stuff. But it was Edgar Rice Burroughs’ John Carter novels that made me want to become a writer. When I was maybe twelve or thirteen, I stumbled upon an old hard-cover of a double volume of Swords of Mars and The Synthetic Men of Mars in my school library, got snatched up by the story, and never looked back. Before long, I was pounding out a John Carter “homage” on my mom’s old manual typewriter. I think it finally clocked in at about 250 single-spaced pages.

  1. What book influenced you in the beginning?

Aside from Burroughs, I was also reading a lot of Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories, a bit of H.P. Lovecraft. A book that I remember having a great impact on me at about the same time was Interview with the Vampire. That book also blew my mind. Vampires can be the good guys? Wow, that was mind-blowing.

  1. What was the first story that engaged your senses – your imagination and visualisation?

My parents tell me my favourite book was Old Hasdrubal and the Pirates by Berthe Amoss.


This book was apparently the bedtime reading request every night for a very long time.

  1. If you could draw inspiration from one author, who would that be and why?

Nowadays, my literary idol is probably a tie between Ray Bradbury and Joe R. Lansdale. I love Bradbury’s playfulness, the poetry of his words, and the fact that he lived a fully literary life, with hundreds of short stories, films, television, and even stage plays to his credit. Lansdale is doing much the same thing, but with a wry, rough-edged wit that really appeals to me. Like Bradbury, Lansdale is pretty much a genre unto himself.

  1. Do you find, even after all this time, the same challenge or thrill composing/writing your latest work as you did when you wrote your first?

That thrill is why I keep doing this, and I would bet that’s true for every writer. Otherwise, if we’re not having fun, why do this? The author business is one of the most punishing, unfair, diabolically capricious careers in existence, so if we’re not doing something we consider worthwhile, why do it? It doesn’t happen every time I write. Usually it’s just a slog, but sometimes the Muse comes and sits in my lap and purrs in my ear and pours her brilliance out through my fingers and I come away from a writing session thinking, Not bad, not bad at all.