Haiku flavored, slice of life

Forgotten hour,

time shifts at night,

sleepy with coffee.

Hot coffee cups.

Black sweetness, gulp!

Day becomes,  better.

Letters falling

from minds sentences.

Stories, are found.

Red inked pages.

Writing in errors,

perpetual edit.

Little blue book,

for, ideas capture,

story is born.

Music in the air.

Acoustic guitar plays,

pinging waterfall.

Writers  Chair.

High back, brown, fluffy.

Body dissolves.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Dear Writer, it is parlay time!

Dear Writer,

The vivid portrait hanging over the morning sink, glistens in yellow light.  It is dawn, and you have met the person that controls your fate.  Why do you remain in a prison of self inflicted doubt and submission?  If you work at something, at anything, you will get better.  If you stay where you are, you will remain where you are.  Yes, yes, you created a book, you wrote and rewrote it.  It may need to reside on the shelf for a moment.  Now you know the rhythm, you have the discipline.   Small bites, small bites.  Write to an Op / Ed!  Good, now people who you have never met, have read something you have written.  Now, it is time to be brave dear writer, write for money.  Paid articles, gain experience, build that portfolio.  Then, then to the book.  Use what you have learned.  Edit it.  Give it joyfully to beta readers, then listen.  Remember that you will soon etch your words in stone.  Carefully shape your writing…  then, soon dear writer…  that wonderful portrait, that hangs over the sink will depict a happy and successful writer, who was once brave enough to parlay their talent.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Don’t Forget to Walk the Blog


The place I call home is right next to the Rocky Mountains 1.6 km  (1 mile) above sea level.  A semi-arid desert, with thin air.  Many people visit and find it difficult to breath.  I was born way up here so it is my normal.  I take my whole crew on dog walks at the local park.  3 young kids, my wife, and our little brown dog Charlie.  The park is green in the summer, thanks to our ‘desert oasis’ sprinkler system buried in the ground.  At night little plastic shafts rise from the ground, cough and hiss, and water for 30 minutes or so.

Many people go to the park and walk their dogs.  Some people are social, with happy fun dogs.  Others, seem to be walking a guard dog, and patrolling ‘the compound’.  In either case, we enjoy the sun, the people, and the dogs.

Blogs are like dogs.  Everyday, I take my ‘blog’ for a walk.  I try and read 10 posts.  Titles always sell my choices.  Some, I only make it though the first sentence, or perhaps the first paragraph.  The blog growls at me, or ignores my heart, and I move on to the next.  I have a goal to like at least 5 and comment on at least 2.   Someday’s I go over 10 reads, most days, I drop 10 likes on all 10 visits!  I feel inspired, touched, and moved.  I have walked in a lush garden of your writing.  An ocean of ideas sloshes, and caresses wet sandy shores.  I love that moment, when I pause in the virtual park, walking my blog, and meet someone who has a beautiful story to share,  their story of being human.  I think blogging 90% reading and listening.  In the end, my posts become better from interacting with the community.

There are times, when I need to delicately pick up my post with a little green bag, but its alright, because I came to the ‘blog’ park to meet you.


Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Dear Writer… (Thought 2)

Dear Writer,

A story may fall from a leaky mind, turn to ink, then trickle and tickle its way to dry paper.  Consider for a moment, dear writer, that the pipeline from imagination, to final draft is clogged.  Debris, trash, and sloppy slush impedes ideas from taking shape into sacred words.  Writing emerges flawed, and saturated with muck.  The triage of story is full.  But, you are writing!  You are in the fight!  Don’t give up!

  1. Draft 1: Severely wounded, ideas are weak and dying!
  2. Draft 2: Grammar Transplant, terminal wounds!
  3. Draft 3: Character Blender, Blood Bath!
  4. Draft 4: Beta Readers, are not impressed…
  5. Draft 5: Draft is breathing on its own…  more bandages.
  6. Draft 6: Plot Surgery, the story crawls…
  7. Draft 7:  The real editing begins…  Limb grafts…

Soon, writing is strong enough to conquer the hearts of the readers.  Eventually the battle to tell your tale, is won!

Critisism, dear writer, may be your friend.  There are 318.9 million people in the United States alone.  Billions in the world.  If your writing, becomes an etched monument in the town square, shouldn’t it be as good as it can be?  If it has 1 million readers, that enjoyed the experience, isn’t all the criticism worth it?  If the seventh book written is the one that makes it, then the heavily criticized and wreckage of the first six, becomes, worth it?  Yes!

Dear writer, there good criticism.  Beta readers that are story inspectors.  They point at flaws, and reveal concerns.  You, dear writer, are the Engineer, Architect, and Mechanic of your tale.  Will you allow criticism to be your flashlight to see the necessary repairs needed?

Remember, dear writer, there is dark criticism.  Avoid it.  If you believe your topic, then write about it.  If someone attacks your topic, then ignore it.  Pay attention to those who would criticize the format and nature of the delivery truck, not the product it carries.  Remember, there are those who attack writers, simply just to attack.  You are in motion, you are in the fight.  You are writing, dear writer.  There will always be more people in the crowd shouting insults, then will be warriors in the arena willing to swing the sword (or pens and keyboards in your case).  Insults of topic and beliefs are not criticism.

When the reader is given a experience and a journey, though a clean and unclogged pipe of finished writing, you dear writer, with good criticism, have won!

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Dear Writer…

Craft for me a tale, dear writer.  Craft for me a tale.

Within title, I require enticement.

Upon the first sentence, our relationship, as reader, and writer, hangs upon a thin silky spider web…

At this crossroads, many books die, soon after they are born.

More dust than readers, are captured in the cool night air, on lonely metal shelves, fat with static inventory.  Waxy covers hold tight, to pages that will never feel the caress of a reader.  Chapters are entombed, hungry for eyes, minds, and hearts.  They starve, in silence.  Pages suffocated from wine spills, coffee stains, and greasy fingers, they long to be touched, and turned.

And yet…  you are strong, and wise dear writer.  Your tale may yet live!  Now, craft for me a paragraph!

Ahh yes!  The first two trials, dear writer, you have conquered well.  Now, the true test begins.  Fortify my conquered heart.  Your won battle, can become of lost war, if the first paragraph is stale.   I am interested, I am engaged, I suddenly care, like rose petals reaching for warm morning sunlight.

Chapter 1 falls valiantly under my sharpened eye.  The smell of new paper, slimy wax, and fresh ink fill the air.  My mind is fed, and fed well.  You have given me power in our journey, I suspect, I wonder, I want more.  Have you heard the term, “Harry the explainer?” Well, that is certainly not you, my new writer friend.  Not you at all.  I shout, “Well done!”  Everyone in the coffee shop gives me a funny look.  I hold your creation high.  Look upon this book that has enticed my outburst.  Look upon it well, for you should read it too!   Bravo, you have respected me, your reader with polished and refined word play.  You know your craft…

Onward writer!  Craft for me a tale!  Soon you will win the war, and I shall sing of your tale, to other hearts, that are hungry, for you dear writer, to consume your crafted tale…


2017 © Zachary W Gilbert