Long time…yes, it has been…

But why keep running in circles waiving one’s arms trying to suggest, hint, beg, plead and improve a situation—when there is no perceivable audience. And this ol’ scrounge cat’s goal in life is not to placate the droolers.’Cause somewhere out there are creative scribblers—hiding I ‘spose—probably scratching their chins over the same sad state of affairs. Wannabe writers (for the most part) just seem, not, to care about self-improvement and dissemination of a substantial message. Do they know how, or have they even been steered towards the basics of this simple craft refinement?

Unfortunately, we have noticed; those writers who indeed, do, try to improve their craft; writers who in truth accept their shortcomings, quietly scraping away at the rough edges polishing attempting to create accessible, enjoyable or thought provoking verse—they have apparently resigned themselves to simply letting the vacuous promoter sad-sacks take the stands, mouthing their bull-horn “I are a poet” anthem.

Well, this is not enlightening to any who’d wish to improve…

So, is there something positive to impart…Let’s try. Perhaps a fairly un-editorialized (my Aunt Tillie’s afgan “un-edited!”)  anecdote might suffice—

the Example:   Into the Cheap Seats van-office comes a recently unsolicited submission; from a person (who we immediately took heart with) a writer trying to establish: a little lost, and who probably has not reviewed our draconian guidelines—which are not that quite rigid, as our usual writers have figured out.

As heartless-bastard editors we notice right-off line: the subbing writer’s self-absorbed theme, content and construction. Seemingly, a person in distress. Unfortunately, we are not sociologists or qualified care givers—but one or two of us still have hearts.

   Being semi-curious—did an inter-mess search for this writer. Not only does this writer, write loosely constructed, semi-focused woe-is-me, it seems they have wrapped their actual life around distress and disillusion Supposedly from past experience(s). Going so far as to inter-mess promote this history. Ok. fine. So you perceive your life as a pile of manure—who doesn’t occasionally feel cow-piled upon. Do you want to have a real audience? A real-deal literary following? Do you want to spread quality accepted, accessible verse? Then. Get over-it!

   Truly, there are few—really, very few who want your dismal gray day raining on their attempts at their normalcy. Readers-want-escape!

the Hidden Hint: True, a poem must start from within, and within does include those pesky demons and horrid wee transgressions against us. Heck. I have a splinter in my paw today—so, I cannot possibly give a crap about your dear friend’s ashes tipping over in the wind at the funeral…or—could I? Life really can be interesting if given half-a-chance—

work the unusual, the observational angle.

When I’ve had about enough of this down-in-the-mouth-woe-is-me  I’m out of a job, my wife’s a tramp, my best friend has cancer, and the dog has died; someone please commiserate with me— stuff—I resort to ol’ Nebraska Ted. Yes, by the elitist literati, he may be considered a bit corny, and not much more accepted than was the time-style of Robert Service. But Ted Kooser has done a couple of recent stints as the US Poet Laureate —and that ain’t no sack of horse fritters! And Ted’s work is reality. No, big-long-hairy-dog explanations (he believes in show not tell! let the readership draw their own considerations) short, to the point, easily digestible and enjoyable down-to-earth observational reality— without the dismal crud.

   How about, someone, trying on a pair of Ted Kooser glasses? The examination of life (rural yes—but what of your story—doesn’t have to be pastoral.) But please, outside of your self-perceived weeping-self.

…ahh. Yes. Time for more Mtn. Dew and another sack of hate mail.

Write with direction, clarity, tenacity and concern for your audience—Max tdc