Monthly Archives: August 2008

Whaleshead

(A poetic tale written with a bit of Scottish parlance)

Have ye not known the tale of
The Whaleshead? A black awful time
It was — gripped by such a dread fright —
When a raging sea, wroth with hunger, stole
Near a hunner or two more a sad sorry souls
And sent um down, a-feared and a-shriekin,
To Davie Jones afore their time.

Aye …
The bleakest of times it was –

And it came in of a sudden,
This bitter blustering thing,
Rumblin low and a-moanin –
As a fair bonnie woman in moil –
Stroking all the senses daft, this
Portend black of billowing clouds,
Bearing down on the shore bitter
With a sharp-set iciness that bit
Fiercely at the skin like the
Teeth of Serpents

Oh laws how it roared and
Carried on; that perishin cold sleet
As sure as death freezin the hair stiff —
We were aghast at the shear sight of it,
And dinnae know our future near;
Nature up in a snuff and the waves
Dancin high with windy fingers,
Pullin up the bones of wizards
And warlocks and things –

“Save our souls,” was the cry
Of those in the way of harm —
“Hoot toot,” was the sneer of
Those smug at a distance …

And a dread sight it was;
This loathy tempest; pit-mirk
The sea and the ramping waves –
Oh a prospect compelling the mind
Awful with the rumble of destruction;
A dire muckle of hopelessness that
Held the bones and heart in the
Callous fingers of chance –

“Please help us,” was the cry
Of those in the way of harm —
“Hoot toot,” the rejoinder was of
Those aloof and smug at a distance …

There was nary measure of time;
Day and night fluxing together in a
Black swirl of clouds and thunderous
Mayhem, and all the while the tempest
Brooding barmy on the hapless town and
Outlying vessels; shriekin hell like banshees

‘Most a fortnight it lasted –
A short fortnight, minus three –
Tearin the soul outa any strong man;
Razing cottages and taverns and busting
The mizzen from many a sea-worthy vessel;
Most of um breached or broke up like kindlin,
And most all the God fearing townsfolk
Begging desperate fur Duns Scotus –

“God will save us,” was the
Cry of those with the strong faith —
“Hoot toot,” was the answer from
Those at a safe distance …

A hideous time it was, one
That left pocks on me soul. And now
When the clap-o-thunder fits me bereft,
And the heart cries out in the blackest of
Despair, I can still see all those poor souls
Lammin desperate in a shit-mucklety tomb.
No …ne’er in my life will I ever forget the
Whaleshead, and ne’er, ever, of a surety,
Will I forget those souls that passed on …

A Soothsayer's Rune

A bard misplaced in time

Paints portraits in moist soil

And buries dreams in cloth

As sky glows evening blue

And black crows caw from wing.

 

Night veils its secret thoughts

In mist within the grove

Unto which she is drawn

To enter a portal

To the forgotten side.

 

Warm breezes brush her knees

At fringe of thin tunic

As old minstrel poets

Recite prophetic verse

From atop ancient hill.

 

Seers among Willows

Read omens in white clouds

As Druid voices rise

In Oracles’ music

Beneath a healing moon.

 

Hooded cloaks fall away

As hands join in circle

Where dancing arbiters

Lost in their augury

Call forth admonition:

 

“Seek truth beneath great Oak,

But sleep must not befall

There under the Yew Tree

Else dreams in distortion

Shall call death upon thee.”

 

Thus, she died as foretold

Reborn in unity –

A solstice of Self through

Consecrated visions

Dreamt under Tree of Life.

 

© 2008

Setting Your Writing Price Doesn't Always Represent Your Writing's Worth

Some writers have it tough trying break out of the persona of the starving artist. Another issue many writers face is dealing with the fact that other writers in different niches or focus areas might raise an eyebrow when the subject of money comes up. If you ever want to see virtual sparks fly, be a lurker in a writer’s online forum or group when people start debating money. Some writers judge other colleagues very harshly when the subject of how much to charge for written work comes up.

How much money can you earn by writing?

There are copywriters that can can command over $5,000 for a 1,000 word online sales letter that they can write in a few days. Some how-to e-books can earn a writer thousands in sales each month. There are magazine writers that can spend months toiling over a story that will net them $1,000.00. There are web writers that work 50 hours a week writing website content articles that earns them $500.00.

They’re all writers and they all deserve respect for their dedication to their jobs. For some it’s a craft or a labour of love and for others it provides a different need that might be slightly less of an emotional connection.

Of course there is an argument that writers should keep their rates high so that the industry doesn’t suffer as a whole and there are others who claim that the $3.00 articles they write puts food on the table for their family. Who’s right? They’re probably both right because writing is such a personal thing and it can fill not only a monetary need but an emotional need as well. When we hold something so dear to our hearts,  we can feel very passionate and opinionated about it.

Some writers pour their heart and soul into their pages for their own eyes only and are never ever published but still feel their arm hairs rise when they read their own work and so they  get immense pleasure from writing. Others write fiction novels or write for magazines, television or movies or brochures or text books. Others write poetry for their true love.

Some writers can crank out words that means nothing to them but are symbiotic in that those words help pay their mortgage, put braces on their kids’ teeth and can help their clients earn a fortune.

Determining Your Own Self Worth

Setting a price for a piece of writing doesn’t represent your worth as a writer in terms of dollars and cents so regardless of what you are told others earn in contrast to you, love what you do and feel good about calling yourself a writer.  Most of all, embrace  evolvution as a writer and a human being. Enjoy what you do and be proud of what goes out whether it was ghostwritten or has your name on it.

Most of all, don’t make apologies for the money you earn or the lack of money you’ve made so far because what you are doing is you’re choosing to make a career of (or dabble in) something that you love as an ongoing journey that only you can take.

The Ghostwriter's Booksigning

I went to a book signing for a book I wrote the other night–only another person, a kind doctor, signed the books.  The cover of the book features his smiling face and this same image graces the posters that were propped all around the store.

But it would be impossible for you to find even the merest mention of my name anywhere near the book.  Why? Because I ghostwrote it.

Allow me to define ghostwriting for those of you who may still be confused about it (in my travels I find many who are).  A ghostwriter (moi) writes a book for someone else and that other person’s name appears on the book.  If I’m very lucky, the “author” might thank me in the acknowledgments.  On some occasions, ghostwriters get a “with” byline.  As in “Stupid Worthless Memoir by Famous Vacuous Star with Ghostwriter.”

But most of us ghostwriters get nada but a paycheck.  Which is why we do it, of course, because ghostwriting can be among the most lucrative of writing assignments.  You are writing a whole book, after all, not just an article or series of articles for a website.  You are expected to know how to take bunches of information, perhaps some interviews, and vague thoughts and organize them into a readable, informative book.

A great number of business and self-help books are ghostwritten.  Ditto with celebrity biographies and so-called novels.  (You really think Nicole Richie has ever read a novel, let alone written one?)  Rumor has it that some popular mystery series are actually ghostwritten and many readers believe that some of the most prolific romance writers employ ghostwriters to help them churn out the novels.

I can’t verify those rumors, though I suspect they may be true.   I also suspect that many novelists have learned their craft churning out books under the name of a best-selling author.  But I think I prefer to stick to non-fiction.

To my way of thinking, non-fiction ghostwriting projects suit me just fine.  I enjoy learning about different subjects and getting into the mind of the person who I’m writing as.

Last week was the first time I’d ever actually experienced a booksigning where the “author” of the book was signing what I wrote.

I had a blast, met a lot of nice people and reconnected with the folks who hired me.  The thing is, I don’t feel the emotional connection to the book that I would with, say, my novel.  And while I’m proud of the finished product, I’m not so invested in it that I can’t let it go.

We’ll be starting the next book in the series soon and I’m looking forward to attending future book signings.  I wish I could give the book some publicity and send you to the website, but alas, then it wouldn’t be ghostwritten anymore, would it?  (And let me tell you, the whole ghostwriting thing wreaks havoc on the old resume, since I can’t really blatantly list all the books I’ve written.)

Fun as this book signing was, I look forward to the day when I’ll be signing my own novel at a book signing!

The Lost Scent of Orange Blossoms

I grew up in

Southern California

Where my family

Ate home cooked

Meals together.

That world died

A horrible, slow death.

Murdered

Like in a horror movie

A corporate hit job.

Bulldozers and chain saws

Killed it and

Dragged the corpses off

Without a trial.

The replacements were

Televisions,

Fast food,

Video games,

Internet;

Reality shows.

Back in that magical,

Childhood kingdom

Where kids cultivated imaginations

There was an orange grove

Across the street.

The tree man

In kaki pants

And black boots said

We could have

The ones on the ground.

My rule of thumb was simple:

Squat and look for kaki pants.

There’s nothing sweeter

Than untouched

Whale sized oranges

Knocked off a tree

With a stick.

Suck juice from naval first.

The groves

Became strip malls,

Cloned houses,

Condos;

Grade schools.

The fresh air

Turned purple

The dirt covered

With dead

Streets and parking lots.

Those orange trees

Tore their roots

From the ground and

Migrated south of the border

Without a visa

Thinking of cheap labor

And short-term profits.

No wonder a couple of kids

Went nuts at Columbine.

Warrior of Light – Issue no. 179 – The First Cardinal Virtue: Faith

First we spoke in this space of the seven capital sins. The series enjoyed a wide repercussion among readers, which made me very happy. But what about the seven cardinal virtues?

The sins come before the virtues. As a wise man said, he who has not sinned has no merit in his virtue — because he has not overcome any temptation. Most holy men of any religion generally lead a dissolute or apathetic life before they dedicate themselves to the spiritual quest.

So, since the series on sins has come to an end, and following the logic of the path of Light, we shall dedicate the next columns to the seven cardinal virtues, beginning with Faith. They are derived from the sum of three theological virtues, plus another four based on Plato which were adapted by Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas Aquinas (there are many divergences regarding the four complementary virtues, so I have decided to choose the more conventional list).

According to the dictionary: from the Latin word fide: confidence; religious belief; conviction with regard to someone or something; firmness in fulfilling a commitment; credit; intention; theological virtue.

According to Jesus Christ: The apostles said to the Lord, “Give us more faith.” And the Lord said: “If your faith is as big as a mustard seed, you could have said to this mulberry tree, ‘Be pulled up by the roots and planted in the sea,’ and it would have obeyed you!” (Luke, 17: 5-6)

According to Buddhism: “We are what we think. Through thought we build and destroy the world.

“We are what we think. Your imagination can do more harm than your worst enemy.

“But once you control your thoughts, no-one can help you so much, not even your father or your mother.” (Extract from Dhammapada, a collection of some of Buddha’s principal teachings)

For Islam: “How do we purify the world?” asked a disciple.

Ibn al-Husayn replied: “There was a sheik in Damascus called Abu Musa al-Qumasi. Everyone honored him for his wisdom, but no-one knew if he was a good man. One afternoon a flaw in construction caused the house where the sheik lived with his wife to fall down. In despair, the neighbors began to dig among the ruins. After a while they managed to locate the wife.

“She said: ‘Leave me. First save my husband, who was sitting more or less over there.’ The neighbors removed the debris from the place she had pointed to and found the sheik, who said: ‘Leave me. First save my wife, who was lying down more or less over there.’

“When someone acts like this couple, they are purifying the whole world through their faith in life and love.”

The faith of denying reality: “One year ago I gave a speech in an aircraft-carrier saying that we had succeeded in reaching an important objective, accomplishing a mission, which was to remove Saddam Hussein from power. As a result, there are no more torture chambers, no more mass graves.” (George W. Bush, 30 April 2004. In the same month, the world was to see the photos of torturing in the Abu Graib prison, and the collective executions of the civil war between Shiites and Sunites continue up to the moment I write this column).

According to Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlava: A disciple sought out the rabbi and said: “I can’t manage to talk to God.” “That often happens,” replied Nachman. “We feel that our mouth is sealed, or that the words just don’t come out. However, the mere fact of making an effort to overcome this situation is in itself a beneficial attitude.”

“But it isn’t enough.”

“You’re right. At such times, what you should do is look up at the sky and say: ‘Lord Almighty, I am so far from You that I can’t even believe my own voice.’ Because the truth is that the Lord always hears and answers. It is we who do not manage to talk, for fear that He will pay no attention to us.”

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/warrioroflight

Dreaming South

reflecting new-born lust wanderer the lover

sucks the new illusion another mile of country road

dancing his sight with cornfields and soft destroyed broken light 

the sky will burn and Friday night is far away for blond girls

and easy rides and summer rain drive- in kisses

diaphanous mythical women with marble torsos

and suns and golden red blue rivers of lilies and goat’s rings

or am i dreaming in south of Texas or south of Greece

mixing the holy wines and climb the steps like erotic vines

my essence lighter it becomes with joy

or is it a mid-summer”s dream a mere narcotic ploy