ok why did I believe Carol question on where to write was Julie's..
I need some more help in using the blog obviously.
Thnk you Carolyn for your question..
and hope others check out and comment on the poem
Twinkling of an Eye.
John

ON THE TRAIN AND WRITING NOWHERE

Years back, I took my first train ride across North Carolina to visit my college roommate.

Not knowing what to expect, I brought a book to read on the five-hour journey.

As The Carolinian cars passed through the Southern countryside, I realized the train would be a great place to get some writing done. The space provided plenty of leg room. I could pull a tray down from the seat  in front of me for a small table. And distractions were few.

I decided that one day I would take the train someplace-and-back to write a short story or finish some of the projects that continuously resurface in my procrastination pile.

The opportunity finally came this past summer when I bought a round-trip ticket for my vacation. I planned to get in eight hours of writing on the journey.

I settled into the roomy seat, got out my notebook and pen, pulled the table tray down in front of me and began to write.

But as the train left the station, my pen started sliding on the page with the motion of the cars over the tracks. No matter what I tried, I couldn't keep control of my penmanship. Sentences dipped and curved on the faint lines of the notebook paper, and many of my words were illegible.

The transportation was too bumpy. Before the first stop, I had put away my notebook and wished I had a novel to read.

On my next train ride, I'm determined to write again by bringing a laptop computer. But just in case my creative plans don't work out, I'm also packing a book.


QUESTION: WHERE IS THE IDEAL PLACE TO WRITE?

--cawk

Just Write!

Just Write! is the name of the Logan Township NJ Library’s Writer’s Group. This name originally drew me to the group. After all, all of us writers no matter where we are in our writing lives can boil all our goals down to those two words – “Just Write!” Personally, those two simple words are the hardest for me because I have always let life or other various excuses get in the way.

This January as I was composing my mental list of resolutions (you know, the usual – eat less, exercise more, play with my kids more, be a better person, yada yada yada) I included “write more” in my list. This year is more than half way over, I can say that I am writing “more” but I certainly don’t feel that I am writing “enough.” I am still allowing everything under the sun to get in the way of “just writing.” To move closer to my ultimate goal of one day being a published (PAID) writer – I have decided to specify my goal to writing one story and submitting that one story a month from September to May (Write 1 Submit 1 or W1S1). To facilitate this goal I have told myself that the 4 hours a week I have completely kid-less will be dedicated to writing and nothing else.

How’s that going? Well, I have had a total of 4 hours in the last week to write. I did manage to write two of them. I started out my session with some free writing which I will subject you to now:

I just dropped my 3 year old off at preschool – all smiles and no tears just like the others although there have been threats of tears for weeks. Even this morning, he was screaming that he was not going to go without me and he was going to cry. But upon arrival, he didn’t even look back. My last baby is a big boy. So, I walked away from the school armed with my laptop and ready to make good on the threat to write for two solitary hours at the library. The only chink in the plan is that the library doesn’t open at 9 am. Oops. I suppose I should have thought this one through. I drove around a bit, gathering my thoughts into a plan - searching through my Garmin for an alternative – a close Starbucks or the like. Nada. So, here I sit at the Shoprite coffee shop drinking a lousy cup of coffee when I don’t even need the caffeine but avoiding the heat-lamped pork roll and egg sandwich that I REALLY don’t need for many reasons.

            Upon arrival at Shoprite, the first place I had to hit out of necessity was the restroom (because of all the coffee I’ve already drank today). And even though I am in a public restroom, I still manage to do some thinking (what is it about bathrooms that help me gather my thoughts?). Anyways! So, I came up with the plan to go to the Barnes and Noble at the local college next week. It probably is only 10 minutes away from my son’s school and I’ll be surrounded by collegiate types which I still fancy I am anyways. But alas I am at the Shoprite 10 minutes in the opposite direction so here I will sit amongst the retired and recently widowed; the employees on break (those that aren’t outside smoking); and situated, ironically, next to the babysitting room with screaming kids (I can’t seem to escape!).

            So here I sit in surrounds that aren’t the most conducive to writing unable to write. Go figure! That’s pretty much how it usually happens. I write the most beautiful prose in my head while doing laundry, cleaning toilets, running errands, anytime I can’t write but when I sit down with computer in front of me it doesn’t come! Hence the free writing session at Shoprite.

            It is kind of a good place to people watch. Like the airport. Only sadder. At an airport there is the undertow of excitement, anticipation, privilege. At 10 am on a Thursday morning at the grocery store… I can’t put my finger on the feeling – depression… nobody wants to be here, giving up – I’m here but I’m not even dressed or showered…. There is a woman interviewing for a job in front of me wearing jeans and a tee shirt.

            Man, I really wish I was at Barnes and Nobel. But at least I can pick up some fruit and some stuff for lunch tomorrow. Maybe I can go the library after this….

That interview lasted 10 minutes. Hmmm I wonder if she is going to get hired? So if this writing thing doesn’t work out, I wonder where I am going to work. My husband wants me to work in an office. I think I’d rather work retail. I was happy working at TJ Maxx. Hmm. Or a lunch lady. I really hope this writing thing works out for me! I’m going to try! I’m going to start out slow – write one submit one a month. From September to May. Maybe I should get on to that one story I’m working on…. But maybe after I eat a pork roll and egg sandwich….

Discussion of choice of words

Its almost over, Summer in South Jersey.. and this poster finds the poem planned on presenting for discussion Twinkling of an Eye, was composed in WORDPERFECT.  So when seen below, we mayhap need to find the way to convert it to WORD.. so here goes, In the meantime, a hint is in the title.
11/08/08

Twinkling of an EyeHo Ho Ho ! Wa’ad d’ye Syie!
The next hint occurs in the Twinkling of an eye
Should you be upset.
Waa’d ‘tis this?
Nothing much, but all there is and ever was.
The year by man’s own volition described
Is number Twenty-one Twenty,
And here am I.
You can be interested to know , that I will describe myself
verily and slow.
Today your naked eye cannot see me a, micro-cell, per se
So I will use an object the size you comprehend
I liken to the size of a pea or a hen’s egg.
How complex does this show
For its life within an embryo.

Life today as now tis known
Is the force that brings us all together
Under a Supreme being , and needs to be said
Universe number three has been no more ahead.
We gather this instant in time.
With Earth, Fire, and Water, the fourth time in mirth put forth
The City definitely under Willy’s staid mien and girth!
Whoa! Another hint as to whom am I
  too wear britches, have feathery white feet
and stand 18 hands or over Eight feet with white teeth.
Now the next hint becomes
I am here to celebrate the new time defined
By events of over a century behind.
Now exactly what is a Philly
a unit of time, why 28 years of course.
Well here I am again, the seventh generation
with my father’s , err my stallion, who bred
the forefather who held my stead.
In this century plus a score and more
Its Philly day and it’s a pilgrimage parade.

How many times has the data showed
This City of Brotherly Love and Hope
Has produced a multitude of delight
and the Force that holds us together from that bight.
A mere man child a Philly ago.
Found the connection and made us know
We are one and together Whatever our skin
We are each other’s kin.
Throughout the now known Third universe expanse at a glance
Life is the force binding us all together in a substance dance.
And all of its weather.
There is a hidden beat throughout this tether
Some recognize the leather.
The colors that show me off
Grace two known cans of wether whatever.

You see , aha another hint, the view from here
is more than delight
You see I am the eye of the draft steed, bred to be the right wheeler.
As my forefathers have been.
We now come together to gather not in sin.
We are one , when left our tow
and loved one another even in show.
Sport once again repeated the end and thus the beginnings
Of this life in a life a vista of
A Millennium , slowed.
A part and one, my support screen shows
As the 1960's songs bestowed - I am a complete life
2525 will come again. See I am a microcosm in a macrocosm
We are all part of the nano building block
One pill at a time, one and all for sure, God’s blessing this day.
Amen
©John Witkowski

For summer 2012

Another Play on Words  ©JWitkowski 6/16/12

Forwith goeth the poet
Not! Hunh! Stopeth! Hear eth!
Sneeze please tease
This poet throweth.

Consider then the red hen

Cheese tweeze these
Contrary stood pulled
Could he have understood?

Why its another play

Tray on words.
You say
With of course rhythm with rhyme.

Hence went the Bent form

Or CEE, the letter, if you please
Thence trice more with a lemon sour face
At least twice more to rephrace.

With the misspelling , am I having fun

At this pace or is it haste waste chaste
Once more again whoops!
Was that perhaps chased?

The metal button one in brown or blue

Made it true
Put for more cryin' on the train
He didn't feel the pain.

Life isn't about denouncing the storm

But about learning to dance in the rain
For if you don't know where you are going
You are liable to get there.

We turn to you Lord

We pray your Will be done
We trust-
We pray now today.

Within this house of God

We fight, we cry, we pray
Well we communicate
Does this rime Always contain rhyme.?

its summer and the reading is easy

good morning and thank you Julie.

The Philadelphia Writers' Conference

I am transformed by the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference (for the better) and so are my favorite khaki pants (not for the better). Let’s discuss the writers’ conference first. We’ll get to the pants later.

If you have never heard of the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference it is a non-profit organization made up entirely of an elected, volunteer, board dedicated to bringing writers together for “instruction, counsel, fellowship and the exchange of ideas” since 1949. They hold *free* workshops throughout the year as well as an annual conference held in June (for a very reasonable fee). This three day event is led by leading writing teachers and published authors from our area. These are people who have succeeded in the industry AND want to help other local writers, even little ol’ me, succeed.

I have been writing since elementary school mostly “in the closet.” Members of my own family don’t even know I write. Every once in a while I may tell a close friend or a complete stranger and on very rare occasions I may actually allow someone to read my work. Then that work gets shoved in a proverbial drawer never to be seen again. Since high school, every few years, I will make half-hearted attempts to join a writers’ group, or take a class or something but never really found a niche.

As I watch my kids, and myself, grow older I have a new sense of urgency. I better *do* something with this 30 year itch or I may very well explode! Before I know it my littlest one will be in school and my husband will look at me with expecting eyes and say, “maybe you should get a job so we can send these kids to college.” And it will be over; my chance at being a writer will be gone. I will be a working schlep once again with no time to write. I’d better try now and either succeed or fail miserably but at least I’ll have tried.

This is how I ended up leaving my children on a Friday morning to attend the three day conference. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. I couldn’t even tell friends and neighbors I was going; just saying I have a “thing.” After-all, I am a walking cliché – little stay-at-home mom who wants to write a silly little novel. As such, I certainly would not be welcomed into this community of serious writers – you know, like people who have been writing beautifully every single day since birth; people whose first drafts are perfect; people who can describe the shit out of a blade of grass; people who have been published; people who are not blonde (ok, so this one is a stretch for many reasons top of which is that I DYE my hair blonde). These people, I’m sure, did not listen to Radio Disney on the way in – turning the volume up for Hot Chelle Rae. What the heck, I’m gonna turn on some Hot Chelle Rae right now – It’s my party, I’ll dance if I want to! Anyway, my point is – these people were clearly going to be superior to me in every way.  

Most of these feelings of inadequacy melted away as soon as I walked into the door (they still lurked in my head slightly). I was 10 minutes late as usual, but that’s OK because being 10 minutes late gave me the opportunity to feel the aura of all the attendees as I walked through to door. It gave me the chance to feel the vibe of love and acceptance as I snuck in the room to hear the opening speaker, Jonathan Maberry.

Thank you Jonathan Maberry! What a fantastic opening speech. I couldn’t even tell you exactly what he said without getting off my butt and consulting my notes but it was spoken to me personally. This guy writes New York Times best-selling horror that I may never read but he spoke to me. He spoke to all of us. We all left energized and ready to move on with our writing lives. Move on we did, to 3-day intense writers workshops on whatever topic we wanted.

First I had a Literary Short Story Workshop with Debra Leigh Scott. I don’t think I write “literary” short stories, I think mine are more crap, er, I mean “contemporary.” But I enjoyed everything about her workshop (well, up until the point I learned Walt Disney may have been a Nazi-sympathizer. That hurt.). We all walked away with some great work to read and the start of some really beautiful stories ourselves. I look forward to being in a future workshop with Debra Leigh Scott to continue to hone my craft (and to share what I learned about the Disney/Nazi thing in my Google research).

Next I had Playwritng with Maurizio Giammarco. I took this class for fun. Man, was it intense (and fun)! Maurizio Giammarco has his PhD, teaches at Temple, writes his own plays, and has won an award for a film. He crammed all that he knows into 3 one-hour sessions. Whew! It was great but I think I need to go purchase “Screenwriting for Dummies.”

My last workshop was Character Development in Novels with Jonathan Maberry. In a word, awesome. This guy is great. He is making it the industry and has all this energy to share about writing, reading, and the market. All I can say is, his wife must be a saint! He writes 12 hours a day, 3 novels a year, short stories, book tours, workshops, writers’ coffeehouses, etc etc. And, he squeezed in some time to help us write lovable characters even if our characters may never encounter a zombie.

There is so much more I can write about the other sessions, the agent and editor panels, etc. but this blog is getting very long and I haven’t even discussed my pants. Just go next year, OK?

Now onto the pants. These khaki pants pre-date my soon-to-be 10 year marriage but have held up considerably well (as has the marriage!). They have brought me through three rounds of post-partum weight gain and loss – always reliably buttoning when my waist was bigger, only hugging a little too much around my butt. Then, when the weight-loss finally came, they would hang nicely and hide all my imperfections. They have stuck with me through the occasional 5 lb gain or loss. They have come with me to churches, dinners, dance clubs, and playdates. But on Friday afternoon, armed with I-can-make-it –afterall energy, I strutted the streets of Philadelphia Mary Tyler Moore style when it suddenly occurred to me I must eat something. So I quickly grabbed a city vendor gyro and plopped myself in front of the Holiday Inn to scarf it down before the next session when - wait for it - it fell in my lap – all red tomatoey hot sauce and all. Where are the baby wipes when you need them? Here I was kid-less and invincible and yet I still managed to get stains on my favorite pants! Oh, well, this time next year I’ll be a world-famous author (right?) and I’ll buy myself some new khakis!

Here it is folks – my first personal blog entry – clichés, hyperbole, typos, inconsistent verb tense, fragments, run-ons, misplaced commas and all! For the world to see. I really must be transformed! Thanks for reading! Now I must go change my two-year olds diaper and wash those khaki pants.

For more info on the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference go to www.pwcwriters.org. For more info on the khaki pants, I guess you’ll have to comment here! And, just for kicks, listen to some Hot Chelle Rae: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtxzkDzuF3g! I dare you *not* to bob your head! 

Thanks

Thanks for the invitation to write for the blog.

Muhammad

for the record

Seems this works..
Didactic in essence..
Should fie be for. I'm sure.
Lets do more..

for the meeting 5/9/12

Here goes.

A Voice

A Voice in a language of Truth and Love

Both Peals forth and

Whispers from above

While It trembles and shakes the land.

How does this Dove tale narrate

How does It dovetail with this season of rebirth

Does It cause me to squeal in delight

Does It bring peace I seek at night.

Second chances to wit

Rounding up comes to roost

Here in my heart's berth

These words are asunder.

The words don't flow

They shouldn't be treated as plunder

The great Landscaper does mow

Then we are presented with the show.

Then comes the thunder

Causing buds to bloom

Swains to swoon

And me to try another spoon.

The rhyme is off

The spoof is not

Here in my heart

Which brings me back to this second start.

Peace today

It turns out to play

Round once again

As the hens gather their lot under them.

©JohnWitkowski 43012

A QUESTION AFTER THE VOICE

After the voice was heard

It was obvious the words were scattered

And not making much sense

Like afore when man's word was battered.


Why do men contemplate big words

Then question like this:
What is greater than God
More evil than satan

More sure than taxes or death?
What you wish not to relent
Then the answer to fill this breach
Is not something but NOTHING.

Whoa can you broach the spasm

Span the chasm

And stop the resonant non-silence

Philosophize with impunity.

Then expect immunity.

Cause the human to bend

Why not simple accept

And let Dios settle the debt.

If you ask

You do not know

This has occurred already

We can accept the sum and bask.

Its Spring which has Sprung

The buds bloom,  robins sing

The tadpoles chirp

Geese fly north.

The Creator has done His thing.

All is right here on earth

This Landscaper mows

As we bow the Word flows.

©witkowski43012

More play on words..not finished..

Welcome to Read Us. Know Us.

Welcome to our Blog! We are Just Write, Writers Group at the Logan Township Branch of the Gloucester County New Jersey (NJ) library system. Here you will find our writings, advice for writers, group and meeting information, and other such musings from our Writers' Group.