Moon Project

My heart's been struck lately by how beautiful this life is and how so many people wish to destroy it. We have Muslims slaughtering people, serial killers and pedophiles everywhere. There's murder, not just throughout the world but in our own streets. Sensibilities are destroyed at every turn and common sense gives way to the blind following of leaders who at best are only serving themselves and on the other side of the spectrum, serving our enemies.

This ridiculousness and weakness steals our self esteem and our creativity. I've decided to begin a project. Anyone may join in. I think I'll name the project "MoonStruck". (Yes I know about the movie. The movie has nothing to do with this.)

Each month I'm going to post at least one poem based on the moon. Each month's "moon" piece will have the month's name followed by the word "moon". Other words may be added, ie "Hot August Moon", or simply be titled "August Moon, September Moon, etc.".

The purpose of this project is to produce creative poetry that builds the writer's self esteem. It takes courage to write AND publish a piece of poetry. Anyone who wishes to participate may send me their poem(s) related to the moon to author@michaelrayking.com. If I enjoy the poem, I'll post it here on my blog.

This is an opportunity for writers to 'guest blog' on my site, and hopefully cull a tremendous collection of poetry on a focused subject. My first poem is simply titled, August Moon.

Be sure to include your name with the poem. Hey, a short paragraph about you would be nice to include as well. Relate the poem to the month's moon in some way, but the subject matter will be up to you. I'll post what I feel are the best. Actually, I'll probably post most of them as long as they are not vulgar. This is poetry... Also, I will not publish any of these poems other than on this blog site. If at some point, a collection of poetry is published, it will happen with the written consent of the author. I have no plans for a publication, but, heck, one never knows. This could become such a good project that I feel compelled to get the work "out there" in a more widespread market. For now, though, this is simply writers doing what they love...

August Moon

Her voice of light crafts a song

Wisps and curls of gossamer clouds

Chorused by innumerable stars

Grandeur to the celestial horizon

Soft melodies hum the wind

She tickles imagination

Leaves rustle, branches bend

Comfort for the dullest of hearts

She lends light to the lonely

Frees captive souls from slumberless nights

Passes a free spirit through the essence of man as

Peace stands firm under an August Moon

There's my August foray into the MoonStruck project. This may not be my only one. If you concoct more than one poem, feel free to send them. Remember the topic and title! Anything outside this will not be considered.

Baby Steps

You wouldn't know fiction is my passion by the way I post to this site, would you? I love writing and fiction dominates my dreams but I appear to struggle to get a rhythm going.

I post sporadically, I dream too much and I follow through far less often than is needed to be successful so far. I must write "so far" or I'll simply give up. Many factors spring into a writer's life that derails even the best of plans.

I wonder at times at my decision to pursue The Dream. Yes, I want (and need) to make money writing, but that's not The Dream. The Dream is to be successful. Success can involve many facets and take on many faces. Money is simply one of those faces.

I envy those who make writing their 'hobby' and don't quit their day jobs - only for a moment each day. Then I look at what I'm doing, the amount of time I have left in this life (nanoseconds to maybe thirty years) and I come to the conclusion that writing is a noble way to exit.

I could slave away for a corporation like millions or billions of contemporaries, but that life is not my desire. So what if I fail? So what if people scoff at my writing and laugh at my foibles? What will it matter to me a hundred years from now?

Yes, I'm ranting a bit. I'm upset that I've allowed too many obstacles to my writing hold sway over my determination to press forward. I'm ranting because I remain my own worst enemy. I'm ranting as a means to jolt myself back on track.

Yes, these are baby steps. Yes, there are many trials ahead. Yes, I love what I do. For this reason, I continue to write, struggles and all. Fiction will come yet from these fingers...

The Cold Bite of Autumn (Part 11)

Daniel stepped back and scanned the cabin. One room, one queen bed, one door. Substantial floor space, even with a small table, allowed a sense of openness. Claustrophobia might otherwise overwhelm anyone staying here for any length of time.

"They meant the world, and you turned. That means you thought they could pull it off."

Samantha's lips tightened and her voice thinned to an icy whisper, "what it meant was I thought I had a chance to get back a life."

"My apologies," he said as he put dry goods in the small pantry. "I didn't know you were so emotionally involved."

"Yeah, that's something that doesn't usually come with the territory does it?" Samantha laid back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know when it happened or how, but somewhere I lost my edge."

"By edge, you mean your ability to distance yourself from feeling?"

"No, losing my desire to kill. Too many people need to die to make this world a better place. I knew I had no chance to kill them all and I also knew my contributions were limited at best, so what's the point? I just wanted to settle down and forget."

Daniel opened the door, hesitated and said, "I'm going to scrounge up some firewood. Back in a few." The door clanked shut followed by footsteps fading from the cabin porch.

Okay, Another Poem

Soft West Virginia Rain

Soft West Virginia rain cascades to my spirit
Gentle droplets on a lush emotional landscape
Sadness mixed with joy
Solitude varied from melancholy to peace.

Soft West Virginia rain defines my heart
Life-giving and placid, home and friends
Tranquility wafts like breezes through a calm drizzle
Cares of the world no longer piercing my mind.

Soft West Virginia rain tugs at my soul,
Whispering pleas to stay my feet
Soft West Virginia rain mends me whole
And I wonder at how I could ever leave.

New Poem

Fiction’s Footsteps

Fiction’s footsteps – no footprints at the beach
Washed away by tides of undiscerning minds
Nor imprints in the desert
Blown away by uncaring winds of disinterest

Fiction’s footsteps stroll pristine snows
Grand stories stray from well-traveled paths
Scribed into virgin white landscapes
Until the warmth of time descends on this writer’s world

Fiction’s footsteps follow less defined paths
Than well-worn trails of everyday life
Fiction’s footsteps beg the blank canvas and solitude
Snowfalls bless upon the writer’s landscape

Yes, fiction’s footsteps fade over time – nothing left behind
But oh what a life a story clasps
As it takes on its form, shape and meaning
From the fingers of a loving author

Writers! Write!!!!

Holy crap! Has it really been two and a half weeks since my last post? What a slacker, eh? Writers beware - this is a profession that easily sucks you into a) procrastination (like we need any help in that area anyway, right?), b) slackerdom (my own word - different from procrastination in that a slacker actually DOES something albeit in small quantities), c) self-esteem issues (again, like we didn't have those to begin with...), and finally d) panic mode (brought on, of course, by the aforementioned big three...).

I suffer all these yet I write. The key is write. How the hell many times do we have to be told this? I visited Ann Rice's FaceBook page and she's on there repeating the mantra. I even friended 6 people (mainly because when I clicked on "like" as I've done hundreds of times on other peoples comments, a box popped up asking me to friend the 48,000 people on her FB page). 4 people actually friended me back! I have no clue who they are, but I'll be finding out soon I suppose.

What is interesting are the two who did not friend me. One in Texas wanted to know when we met and the other clearly and concisely told me it was apparent we did not know each other but we are currently writing back and forth on each others wall because she is interested in my connection to writing. I may have actually made a friend. Too cool!

I have to answer the one who wants to know when we met. I'd hate to have her think I was a one night stand she had while bingeing or something of that ilk. On the other hand, I've never been a one night stand. This might be the closest I ever come... Hmmm. Ethical dilemma...

Back to the post at hand. Creating content that drives people to read you is tough. You must step out there and make yourself vulnerable to criticism. This is something that comes very hard for me and I'm sure many others. If you can't do it, you need to move on. I've tried to be the nice, vanilla kinda writer that doesn't offend or challenge people negatively. No one wants to read my shit. That's the bottom line. Yes, I put the word "shit" in there on purpose. What a rebel, eh?

Post consistently. Find your niche and invite people in. Crap! That's precisely what I'm missing here! I haven't invited other writers to my blog. Oh yeah, I invited people, but not specifically writers. I must do this. If you are a writer reading this, then that means I'm doing what I need to do.

Hub Pages has been my most successful outreach to writers. I need to get out there and write more articles. I also need to promote like by fellow Rogues Gallery Writer - Rebekah Hunter Scott. Check this out. She landed the following radio interview scheduled for May 2nd. Here's the link: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/esteemyourself

It's stuff like that a writer must do to get recognized and sell books. Consistent blog posts are another. I need to post like Rebekah - two to three times a week. I also need to write something that grabs. This is good advice for all writers. Step out of comfort zones and safe places. Hey, if they throw tomatoes at us, at least these days they're virtual tomatoes, not nearly so messy...

As promised, I will be posting the next portion of The Cold Bite of Autumn this week. Come back and see if I'm as good as my word...

Wow! Publishing can take a toll on your writing career. I need to pick up my story where it left off and allow it to grow like I know it can. Instead, of course, I pursue the business aspects of writing - especially publishing - and let all that creativity die on the brain stem.

The Cold Bite of Autumn aspires to be my manifesto work that grows from my innermost mind into the most ultimate of writing complexities - a novel. At this moment the story is nothing more that a cheap trinket in a curio shop.

The power needed to complete the writing cycle of nothing, creation, refinement, re-creation and finally nothing overwhelms the writing mind with visions of impossibilities rattling around their cortex...

Writers create from nothing but the space between their ears and the maze within their hearts. Writers understand each other up to a point. We all fight our demons. We all suffer our pathetic excuses. We all nod our heads and even forgive others of their time-management conundrums. Yet we seldom forgive ourselves purely. We do it temporarily, but ultimately we blame ourselves for not pressing forward in a more timely fashion.

These types of things are apt to happen to creative folk. We bounce around in our right brained world never considering how poorly this world melds with the analytical left brain universe. We wander around, staggering buffoons for the world to see and we have the audacity to ask this same world to read just how inept or imaginatively corrupt we are. Fiction's Footsteps appear to be less than baby steps at this point, but if you've never attempted to write a book, don't come bitchin' to me about dangling participles and incomplete sentences. At least I'm giving it the old
heave-ho!

Until next week...