Reading aloud when proofreading and editing is excellent practice because far fewer errors escape our notice.
I teach my students to do it. I recommend other authors and bloggers do it. And even though I have been teaching English for 30 years, I know I am not infallible, so I still do it, too.
Lisa Shambrook hits the nail on the head repeatedly in this great blogpost about the life of an Indie creator.
It is so hard to achieve and maintain visibility, and it takes time and effort that authors and artists would really rather invest into writing or creating. Marketing your work sometimes feels like selling yourself. It’s a really tough gig.
A review helps to gain visibility. Attention, it seems, attracts attention, It encourages others to take a chance on a book, or a CD, or a hand-crafted item that has been created with heart and soul, time and energy, that readers, listeners and admirers may never fully understand.
So, take a look at Lisa Shambrook’s article and, whenever you get the chance, leave a review for someone who needs it— an author, a artist, a crafter, a local small business, or your favourite coffee shop. Sharing the love is easy once you get the hang of it.
Review: to think again. It’s about considering, assessing, and to offer an opinion, and how many of us love offering an opinion? Social media is all about reviews… we’re posting about our lives, reviewing what we’ve done, where we’ve been, and sharing our thoughts about it. These days, reviewing is just another part of our life.
So, since we’re doing it all the time, how about taking a few minutes – the time to write a status update – to offer a review to those who need them?
It’s my birthday week this week and when I’m asked “What would you like?” – right now, I’d just love a review.
Not a review of me, I think I’m open enough for everyone to know who I am, and I don’t need a rate! I’d love a book review or an Amaranth Alchemy Etsy review.
Last week, as my friends and I were sitting in a shopping centre food court, I watched a young boy carefully picki his nose, eating the booger, and follow it with a chicken nugget. He did this at least three times,
At a table nearby, another young boy watched too, with disbelief and horror written all across his face.
The scene amused me, and I filed a mental note about it. Did the second boy never pick his nose, I wondered, or was he just appalled by the thought of eating it?
As I was driving home, a story came to me.
It seems fitting that it is a macabre story, given that it is October and Halloween will soon be upon us.
However, when I went looking for a copyright free image of a kid with their finger up their nose, I couldn’t find a single one. You would think that with the world-wide resources of the internet at our fingertips, things like that wouldn’t be so hard to find. There were stock images available, but I generally refuse to use those because, like all Indie authors, I’m on a budget and that seems like a luxury to me.
One Facebook post later, my cousin came to the rescue. Her young son was only too happy to stick his finger up his nose for the camera, and now he’s my little hero. He loves creepy stories, so I’ve promised to write one for him. I just have to wait for a little more strange inspiration to come my way.
He’s a natural! Image by Geanette Saad. Used with permission.
I hope you enjoy The Final Blow.
Image by Geanette Saad 2019. Used with permission.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to pick your nose?”
Sam sighed. All he wanted to do was dislodge those crusty bits that stabbed the inside of his nostrils every time she made him blow into a tissue, and remained there stubbornly regardless of his efforts with the tissue. Those things hurt, and they didn’t let go on their own.The best way to remove them was gently, with his favourite finger, and then flick them into the bin.
She should just be thankful he never wanted to eat it. He didn’t understand how other kids could. Just the other day when they had gone out for lunch he had watched another boy in the restaurant eating his booger off his finger before picking up a chicken nugget and eating that. He shuddered at the thought.
Tonight
Through the tears
That sprang from your pain
And fell from my eyes,
I looked into the sky
Where there was one less star shining,
And I wept for the world
Where life carries on
Just that bit darker
Than before
You left.
I can relate to this post on so many levels. As a writer. As a teacher. As a performer. As a director. Sometimes, even as a decent human being.
I may have proven myself time and time again, but it doesn’t stop that sensation that maybe I’m not any good, nor does it quell the fear that one day someone will expose me or my work as being rubbish.
Fear isn’t rational. Anxiety doesn’t care about track records. And Impostor Syndrome is relentless.
I don’t know why it happens, but I know it plagues creative people and sometimes renders them unable to keep going.
I haven’t given in to it yet. I don’t ever want to. But my goodness, trying to resist it is tiring.
Writing is hard enough. Add imposter syndrome into the mix and it becomes the kind of challenge you have to remind yourself, quite often, is still worth pursuing.
The blogpost ‘Only Way Out’ by Allison Marie Conway moved me powerfully.
This is me. This is the power writing has over me. It is my therapy. My escape.
And yet, lately, a deep, overwhelming sadness that has wrapped its weighty fingers around me, constricting my thoughts and paralysing my creativity.
“Give yourself time. Breathe. Be kind to yourself. Be patient.” I keep telling myself these things, hoping to make myself small enough and relaxed enough to slip from its grasp.
I will get through this. I will write my way out of it yet.
As a poet and author, I know full well what many do not: delivering a message of great import in one hundred words is much more difficult than writing it in one thousand. Condensing meaning, crafting and shaping ideas with an efficiency of words, is harder than it looks.
I enjoy the challenge, though, of telling a story in such a very compact form. A well-written drabble is a thing of beauty, and while I am not suggesting every one I write is excellent, some of them are.
The poem ‘Inside My Head’ was published on The Drabble blog yesterday. It is one hundred words long, yet captures the experience of being inside my own mind perfectly. It’s so relatable, so deep, so powerful – and yet, so concise. I doubt I could explain it better, so I am sharing it here for your enlightenment and enjoyment.
Memories
Reminders
Fears
Prayers
Occur in a mere
Sixty seconds
Images
Lists
Problems
Answers
Circling thoughts
Take control
Whirling
Spinning
Crashing
Linking
Hypnotic space
Easily lost
Wake up!
Eyes wide
Ears open
Life surrounds
Be still
Fully aware
Face reality
Move ahead
Be engaged
Time’s too short
To remain
Inside my head
Kelley is a wife, mom, pianist, and an elementary music teacher. She enjoys writing honest, personal stories and reflections about life. Writing helps calm her sometimes over-thinking brain.
I have read most, but not all, of these quotations before, but I still find them to be very pertinent reminders of the ways in which I need to continue to develop and refine my craft as a writer.
They’re all good advice, although my favourite is the contribution from Chekhov. Not only is it instructional, it’s so poetic and powerful.
I’m also very partial to the advice from Edgar Allen Poe, because he is someone whose work I love reading, and has been an enormous influence own writing.
This fabulous infographic image was created by the fine people at assignmenthelper.com
‘Les Miserables’ is among my favourite books of all time, and it is also one of my favourite musicals.
I saw a fabulous production of ‘Les Mis’ last night at the theatre in Warrnambool.
My major achievement for the evening was not singing along out loud— which took more self-discipline than you might ever realise.
I was moved to tears by the emotion and beauty of the performances, but also— as always— by the power of the lyrics.
There are many moments and several songs in the show that I love, but my absolute favourite lines are sung by Fantine:
“But the tigers come at night With their voices soft as thunder…”
‘I Dreamed a Dream’
Those words are so profound.I find them powerful because I know that whatever it is that a person struggles with – pain, grief, depression, anxiety, worry… those tigers visit more often at night, and stay for longer, than they ever do during daylight hours.
One of the reasons I began taking my writing more seriously a number of years ago was because I found it an excellent way of dealing with my night tigers and answering their voices with my own.
That’s why many of my poems deal with themes of mental health, pain, depression, grief, and resilience. Its also why I insist that writing is the most effective therapy I have ever had. It hasn’t cured me or solved my problems, but it has certainly helped to heal me and enable me to deal with the challenges I face in life in a much healthier way.
Those tigers still come at night, but they have discovered that I, too, can roar.
This poem and fifty others are now published in a new collection: 
WordyNerdBird 