Anything You Can Write...
If you don't think writing is a sport, you've never sat through the agony of an adult education creative writing course.
Disguised as a nurturing learning environment, the adult ed creative writing class is really a den of would-be word Olympians poised to strike down the competition on their way to publishing glory.
They are all experts. They all know more than you know. Anything you can write, they can write better. Yet, ironically, you won't find very many bestselling authors in this dugout. In fact, you won't find any. But that never stopped anyone from offering advice on how to "make it." It is not lost on you that even your teacher has not made it. He's teaching an adult ed creative writing class on Tuesday nights at a community college, for crying out loud!
The "sharing" portion of the class is just that, but not in the way you'd expect. You stretch your writing muscles, you flex your pen and then you share your work. While you're cooling down and replenishing your fluids, your fellow classmates emerge from their corners to share their "opinions" of what you've written. And you know what is said about opinions.
No, there is no home stretch. There is no victory lap. There is only endless training, some sparring and a few bruises.
You will not have truly made it until you never step foot in that arena again.
race of words
the thrill of victory,
the agony of defeat
to the victor, the writing marathon
or the arena's battle with the foes
goes the classic spoil,
publishing of the author's works
with all the world to share
hurdles formidable to jump
who will cross the finish line,
akin the writing athlete's 583,000 novel words?
leo tolstoy's war and peace,
j. r. tolkien, et als, writer runner athletes of the mind
for the written works of art to the cheering crowds
the poem, the prose, the story, genres no limit
whatever literary piece
the athlete's endurance is required
measured marked, degree of strength to endure
stamina's training endure and not faint
long nights of introspection's reflection
days of burning passion
traversing plains, hills and rivers, oceans feelings,
through valleys dark, deserts dry
of writer's block, or cramp
not succumb, nor be weary
athlete scribe of the pen
sleepless nights in running search of elusive epiphany
yet unfazed, unnerved to serve, fulfill
the burning need and crave
to form coherent means convey
through the paths and tracks of the course,
though obstacles in the way, unphased
isolation from fellow humanity,
running writing tireless
search for lost, obscure, fragmented meanings
translated terms, terms concise, precise
that fit just right for a perfect stride
words redundancy avoid, run the course
the narrow way, words that flow
take writer's pace to the finish lines
gasp for air in moments of ecstasy
in pursuit of passion's need to run the write
if the ink runs dry, relief awaits in the course
quench your thirst writer's run
it will yield another route
writer's run remains in the race
runs with the power of the pen
stays in the game running with the words
wrestles, fears not combat with the foes that would thwart
impedance threat athletes attempts to form
thoughts invisible into the visible for the spectators worthy
athlete writer harness, subdue as you run,
your thoughts into words, plot their course
in your strides to fly above the sundry barren frames of existence
pass the torch of their meaning, dreams and expectations
pass the torch of writing's sport
to catch the fire, share the sparks
and blaze with light the reader's mind
the author is the athlete poet in the arena of olympiads
runs the race from dawn to dusk
never weary in the sprint, to the full length's marathon
long distance strides to catch the sun
and pen it down
before it slips into the dawn
sprints to paint the story
write it down
share it with the hungry arena
the writer athlete does mourn:
"unless i run my heart does burst,
i cannot stop this race to write
my lungs fill with emotion's dread
to write my feelings my thoughts to spread
my glistening sweat,
salty sweet on my breast
as birds of prey fly after me
to peck my eyes, rob my words
and scatter them in piles
along the track to alphabet confetti,
steal my mission and my goal
unless i run the write
down to my finish lines,
wreath of glory on my brow,
literary piece to the world give
for human deeds and feelings manifold inscribe"
another write, the author poet victor's run
pursue and fill the plot
fulfill the readers' thrill applause,
satisfy their yearning's crave
for wielding swords of words
in the arena of the match
across the finish line another write
another chapter line by line
another poem stride by stride
quench your thirst by swallowing words
the sprint and the gallop of the quest
to write the highest epiphany
leap across to join the ranks
of the classics, the writing athletes of the mind
to the sounds of readers' cheers, exalted or low
of written works spilled across
the track of need for the race to write
I wanna be a...WRITER
Frost once told me writing poetry without any meter is like playing tennis without a net. But can any art be regarded as a sport, or is that simply perverting, distorting, or corrupting it? If any conventionally known "sport" could be considered an art first and foremost, and a sport second, then so, too, a form of art such as writing could be considered a sport. But - what would constitute "winning?" Making more money? No. Having more readers? No. Writing more words? No. Who knows?
Writing is the Ball Game of My Voice
Batting a phrase right out of the ball park
taking ideas and swinging at them
striking the words that command “foul”
sitting in bull pen switch hitting for thoughts
hitting streak when writing flows out
inter-league play throwing ideas with others
late inning pressure to reach your deadline
leading off with winning sentence
extra innings on deck proof reading
night game no-hitter for ideations
“play ball” as writing is considered a sport.
Are you not entertained?
Times have changed,
and no more does
does blood quell the
thirst of the masses.
Heralded by media
fueled by ratings.
The pen is the sword
and the slaughter
our blood sport now.
Step into the arena
with readied persona,
hire your writers,
and fight the shit fight.
yes, there are no
and losers, there are.
the race of words
Mind racing, heart beating,
Traveling through the world of a million words
Stumble upon, trip on
What's not to like?
Pouring out everything
A minimum, maximum
Have those letters fill a page
Heart pounding, reaching
The end of the day
Rewards handed over,
The winners gloat, the losers mourn
As the race comes to a close.
"Anyone can write/a haiku just stop at the/seventeenth syllab"
"Okay, I'll allow the cheat, see your haiku and raise you a limerick."
"The present is always on cue/The future is just out of view/Though built on the past/
A moment can’t last/But life is too short to rush THROUGH...it seems you forgot you're playing a master, eh?'
"Okay, I concede if you meet the challenge of a palindrome for all the chips"
Challenge and Competition of words...
In an announcers voice..."Take a deep breath, meditate, and ready? Set. Go! The words keep following behind each other-some get ahead of themselves. The words race to the finish line-the period."
When a writer sits at their desks to tell a story or to write a poem, they must be prepared to work endlessly until they have created something powerful. This may require a few mere hours, or it could require days, weeks, months, or even years. During this time, writers bare their souls. They unleash their dreams, their fears, the essence of who they are. Storytelling requires sweat and blood. This sweat and blood leads to the formation of characters that are sometimes transformed into real beings by the readers. Therefore, writers are essentially creating life. They are penning the words that can cause cultural revolutions, that can push a shifting in societal norms, that can transport a person into a different world or into a different mindset.