“There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.”
Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith
Woman Sitting in a Café and Other Poems of Paris
Java Wednesdays Anthology
I Am A Fortunate Man
Chronogram, Poets Canvas, DuPage Valley Review, Byline, Women’s Synergy,
55 paperplates, Mom’s Literary Magazine, Knock, Willow Tree Poems, Up The River, among others
I always get a kick out of watching old movies about writers. You know the ones I’m talking about. The lonely writer is sitting at his or her typewriter. Usually his. With a bottle of something on the desk just about emptied. And then lo and behold after much angst and drama and god knows what —dah dah— a jolt of inspiration or chicanery and then the magic words are typed at the bottom of the page. The End. The page is pulled out of the typewriter and placed on the manuscript, tied up neatly in string and the book is finished, ready to be sent to the publisher! Ah, the old fantasy.
To someone who rewrote each of her books more time than she would publicly admit, whoa, that would be something, unfathomable really. There is always something a character might say, do, think, differently… isn’t there??? Right?
And the lonely part… well, I’ve got this to say about that. Yes. I spend far more time than the average person I know in front of my computer or scribbling in my journal or daydreaming about a world that clearly lives only in my head. But since I have been totally immersed in this world my life has been so clearly enriched by all the people I have met and have reached out to me through writing conferences, workshops, critique groups, open mics, book clubs, book parties, presentations, and just general book talk that all I can say is a big thank you to all of you.
So here I am, having FINALLY finished another one. It’s out in the world now. I had my doubts I’d ever get there. Yet, the early news is good. Let me know what you all think.