“The pose of fair-mindedness, the charade of evenhandedness” are “rhetorical ruses. ~Janet Malcolm
Is it possible for writers to be objective? Objectivity was seen once as the key to individual freedom and it would replace sectarian views of religion and superstition. Sadly, it is fruitless to say a neutral position of objectivity exists because agendas are our reality. It is very disquieting to me as an author to confess the limits of my own perspectives. Are my views self-centered or distorted? Is objectivity just a fantasy? How does one create a veneer of impartiality and omniscience when feelings, prejudice, and interpretations influence my every thought? I freely acknowledge my own weakness as I write and promise to hold myself more accountable. What about you?
Month: January 2017
Women’s Healthcare Under Attack
The Affordable Care Act is a complex law which addressed a number of serious omissions in American healthcare.
- While the Act is flawed, calls for simple repeal are at best naive and will hurt a great many people. Unfortunately, “Congress” seems to be a synonym for “ignorance”.
The Kaiser Family Foundation weighed in on one of these issues today — universal access to contraception. I’m not going to repeat their entire article here. You can find it at
The Act eliminated out of pocket costs for contraception for most women and made access independent of workplace or insurer. (Remember the lawsuits involving church employees from before the law?)
When coupled with the attack on Planned Parenthood, which provides breast cancer screening for low income women as well as access to contraceptives, it seems like there is an agenda to reduce healthcare for women.
- One interesting finding in the Kaiser…
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A Moment of Glory
| Lightning needed to make himself heard; it had been too long since he had. Everything was perfect, the ground was dry, and the trees were brittle for a perfectly set stage. “Every moment is the paradox of now or never.” 1 The ebony clouds loomed overhead and churned like dry heaves. He let the black fleecy clouds empty their bellies before he showed his true power. The poor human fools were unprepared for his flashy finale. Lightning longed for this moment. It was now or never.
His arm struck like a hammer on steel, it pierced the air and burst into a fire bolt across the sky. Happy that first blow was crisp like a sonic boom penetrating the fragile veil of silence, he whirled out his arm to let another bolt of fiery energy fly through the black abyss of clouds. The gnarly pine tree shattered and split in half. Lightning laughed when the heart of the old pine tree splintered with the wrath with the display of power. He felt reckless and impulsive, what a rush! Lightning smelled the smoke. Wait ! No way, this was his show. Damn it, why did the darn wind horn in on his party. What was it going to take to be the star of the show? He forbid the wind to intervene; this storm was his! Snap, crack… He thrust straight arrows to the ground below; the leaves flew free. How dare the wind try to steal the show! But the wind swirled, his hostility blatantly open now. One after another Lightning threw his best strikes out, He scattered the mere humans below. Their screams fed his frenzied fury. His fierce bolts flamed through the whimpering sheepish clouds. He laughed joyfully as a small ball of orange, red, and yellow grew inside the shattered, ancient pine tree. The Wind saw his opportunity and blew a steady stream of air to tickle and tease the flame. Another bolt of fury flew from Lightning’s hand; his rage imploded at the meddling wind. He threw blue, white, and yellow bolts of electricity crackling every barrier known. “No!” Damn it; Lightning felt the black fleecy clouds silky droplets, sprinkles on his fire. Then the black volcanic clouds of doom dumped heavier pellets of water until the fire sputtered out leaving puffs of gray smoke and hissing steam. “STOP, Wind and Lightning your foolish display of pettiness and jealousy now,” yelled Mother Nature. Your cynical feud spurred catty, childish and downright destructive behavior by both of you. ” “But that’s the trouble with moments—they end.” 2 Lightning was furious that his moment ended. He hated Wind’s smirk enjoyment of his misery. |
Childhood trauma
Momma’s Ghastly aroma
Lingered in the stuffy room
Fragrant like fried fish
On a muggy summer night.
Her memory still torments.
Tanka a classic form of Japanese poetry with 5 unrhymed lines (5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllables)
Featured Author
When life cuts too deep And leaves you bleeding, When the sun on the horizon Is no longer burning. When all your dreams Have lost their meaning, You look into the darkness For some kind of healing. When the tide stops turning You don’t look for the moon, When you wake in the morning You […]
A Different Queen of the Night
A Different Queen of the Night
In the making
Where the
Lady
Lives
Unlike any other
A Singular Style
Steeped in many
Not really
Shattering clarity
Tough questions
Asking
Answering
Liberating
One another
Oddities to you
Healthy
Disaster?
Mortality
It’s All a Blur
In this World of Fantasy
Moonlight
Always a grind, never dull
Playing with titles #NY Times Friday and Saturday Weekend Arts 1/6-1/7, 2017
Art in Motion
Sketch
to sketch
create a difference
create a difference
Paint
to paint
a visual interpretation
Weave
to Weave
an artistic tapestry
Quilt
to Quilt
a colorful display
Create
to create
outside the box
Display
to display
cherished art of creations.
The Janaku is a simple form of three lines per stanza invented by Eileen Tabios. Each line is based on word count instead of syllables, with the first line containing one word, the second line two words, and the third line three words. There is no limit to the number of stanzas.
Featured Writer
Midnight Resolutions©Carolyn Lukas
Midnight approaches with dizzying speed
As find myself amidst a party of strangers
Drinking champagne
And trying not to get tipsy.
I look for a man worthy of my kiss.
Gone are the days when a knight in shining armor
Would ride in on his white horse
And sweep you off your feet.
Now I search the faces marred by time and experience
They mirror my own;
Which I have wrapped in resolutions
That can only grasp at the hope of becoming….
That healthier woman
Who has lost those stubborn 20 pounds.
That adventurous woman
Who has shaken off the chains of fear and anxiety
And found happiness in her heart’s desires.
That beautiful woman
Who has escaped the ravages of time
And seems to shine with an inner light.
It all seems so out of reach…
But the New Year approaches with promise
And one must rise to the occasion
Letting hope and dreams dance
In the limelight of possibility.
As find myself amidst a party of strangers
Drinking champagne
And trying not to get tipsy.
I look for a man worthy of my kiss.
Gone are the days when a knight in shining armor
Would ride in on his white horse
And sweep you off your feet.
Now I search the faces marred by time and experience
They mirror my own;
Which I have wrapped in resolutions
That can only grasp at the hope of becoming….
That healthier woman
Who has lost those stubborn 20 pounds.
That adventurous woman
Who has shaken off the chains of fear and anxiety
And found happiness in her heart’s desires.
That beautiful woman
Who has escaped the ravages of time
And seems to shine with an inner light.
It all seems so out of reach…
But the New Year approaches with promise
And one must rise to the occasion
Letting hope and dreams dance
In the limelight of possibility.
Carolyn is a dear friend of mine on Writing.com. I enjoy reading her poetry, short stories and her blog entries. This poem won a recent contest on WDC.
Quote
| Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. – E. L. Doctorow |
Two Cigarettes later
I was so excited reading January and February’s edition of Poets and Writers and saw Craig Morgan Teicher’s article about Writing Badly. He discussed his approach to creativity. One of the authors he mentioned was Norman MacCaig, and he featured one of my favorites Impasse. I included it below along with one of my other fav’s Sounds of the Day. Great minds think alike! I decided to share him with you too!
Two Cigarettes! That’s what Norman MacCaig once told an interviewer about how long it takes to write a poem. By the time he died in 1996, he had written 3,897 poems. I hope I can accomplish as many in my lifetime. MacCaig wrote poetry, mostly lyric and often short but very profound. I loved his lack of self-censorship. He wrote good honest poems about life’s conflicts that still apply today. I love his use of clunky words, it reminds me imagery is possible by improvising with language. Poetry to me is best when it’s inhibited. I find Maccaig inspiring when I need to be reminded to trust my mind… the words will come. I recommend you spend some time reading his collection, you won’t be disappointed.
Impasse by MacCaig
Everything’s different now from
what
everything was. Good.
But I like it too when I look
at a thing I’ve known for years,
like a landscape, and you, think
they ‘re just the same,
they haven’t changed a bit.
I know that’s nonsense.
Do you hear my voice faltering?
Do you see the moistness in my
eyes?
Time loves one child-difference,
and kills another-sameness,
and torments us all
who love both.
Sounds of the Day
When a clatter came, it was horses crossing the ford. When the air creaked, it was a lapwing seeing us off the premises of its private marsh. A snuffling puff ten yards from the boat was the tide blocking and unblocking a hole in a rock. When the black drums rolled, it was water falling sixty feet into itself. When the door scraped shut, it was the end of all the sounds there are. You left me beside the quietest fire in the world. I thought I was hurt in my pride only, forgetting that, when you plunge your hand in freezing water, you feel a bangle of ice round your wrist before the whole hand goes numb. http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poets/norman-maccaig Poets & Writers--Inspiration January-February 2017
lyncrain 