Warm Tea In Mountain Rain

Fall wrapped itself around the mountains in a cold misty blanket.  Rain wept for the lost summer season.  Emily wore her oldest and most comfortable pajamas.  The kids had already gone into school with their rain jackets and rubber boots.  Her husband carried the soft memory of her farewell kiss to start his day.  She was finally alone.   Her eyes now caressed the items carefully placed in the home office.  A small red ball played music on the shelf.  Its black wire finding her ipod.  Norah Jones and Keb Mo warmed the air in the room against the clear cold rain tickling the window.  She took another sip of warm peppermint tea.  The sharp flavor danced with her senses.  The keyboard, and laptop conquered all of the available space on the wooden desk.  She sighed, breathing in the moment as she pulled out her notebook.   A delightful moment of writing drank her up as smooth and focused as the storm outside.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Blue Pen Haiku

A blue pen lays on my wooden desk.  Its soul is encased in transparent plastic shell.  The tube of thick blue ink is a pipeline for my creativity to flow onto the page.  Imprinting my words into immortal tales.  “What was it like to be human?”  Writing; a mighty force indeed.

Breath captured, by her.

Love rises in a white cloud.

My heart sings her name.

Fingers dance softly,

on lovers skin. Goosebumps.

Must I go to work?

Hot sweet  swirl.  Coffee.

Thick book. Crisp pages.  Author long gone.

As I read, he lives.

Dusty red stone path.

Blue sky.  Cold wind. Summer fades.

Mountain Man walking.

Rusty roof.  Dying old truck.

Young son.  Middle aged dad.

Memories are born.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mighty/

A Writers Building

The words my soul spills, are like bricks and wood.  At first they are laid in a deep hole.  Then covered with cold unforgiving dirt.  A few more words, fall by the thousands.  The structure and composition is better, but fire soon devours them.  I build again, this time with knowledge of writing, an architect in my mind working along side my passion.  The building of my words is strong.  Someone pays me to look at it.  They enjoy the experience.  They smile, they cry, they read.  I look at my structure and I realize I can build onto my skill, better, stronger.  More words, stacking.  This time I build, tear down, rebuild, polish, refine.  Like a cathedral of my work, it is beautiful, many come.  Some love it, some hate it, but it is there to be considered.   Bricks and wood, one by one.   Finite experience is only found within the building.

Copyright © 2107 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Boneyard, Writers Garden

Writing, like growing,

the next chapter demands risk,

stories sent to die.

Dear friends,

It is time for me to begin sending submissions out to be considered for publication.  In 2016 I was comfortable in just sending out Opinion articles to the local paper.  Short 300 word musings.  That was an amazing experience, I think 16 made it to the light and were read by people I never met.  Now, I need to get brave and start sending out bigger and bolder pieces.  I read ‘On Writing’ by Steven King about 10 years ago.  It was supplemental reading for a 200 level English credit creative writing class.  I remember him saying something about the large spike he put on his wall to pierce rejection letters.  For those of you old enough to remember the deli’s numbered ticket dispensers, they would have that spike on their desk to skewer the numbers as the customers placed their orders.  Anyhow.  My plan, is to submit, and see what happens.  Rejection letters along with silence, will bring my writing to the boneyard.  Meaning, I will post them for the blog community to perform salvage, or perhaps hold services and say goodbye.  In either case, I want to set a goal of 100 rejections, as in, I will submit 100 writings by the end of 2017.  If my writing gets better by 101, then it will be worth it.  The ‘Boneyard / Writers garden will be my digital spike, and I think I may grab one from the hardware store today.

Fellow readers,

Fellow writers,

Shall we begin a salvage writing collaboration?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

 

Dear Writer, about that broken pen

Dear Writer,

Sorry, that I have been away for awhile.  I have been busy on my journey to my first four year degree.  I wont be earning it until I am 41 years old.  Isn’t writing the same?  Why do writers consider failure to be permanent within one failure, and one rejection.  I tried to go to Art College in my twenties.  I learned about story, and character development, but before my junior year was over, and I realized I was spread very, very thin, I quit.  I thought my failure was permanent.  It took years for my to dust myself off and try writing.  Failure is only be temporary, if you get back up, and are perpetually trying.  Dear Writer, your readers are out there, waiting for your tale.  It may not be for everyone, but be assured, it is for them.  Your next project may be your breakthrough project.  Your next submission, might be the one chosen.  I find joy in the act of writing.  I will do so until I die.  As for my readers, I will embrace them when we finally meet.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert