Never out of Season (Throw Back Thursday)

Dissing or Discussing Poetry

First published Feb 1, 2018 JANNA HILL

We are still months away from NPM and poetry discussions are abuzz. I love it!

I’m not even upset that one “genre” is dissing the other – I am just happy poetry is being discussed.

I clicked on a link/interview that was shared with a member of the Horror Writer’s Association and then BOOM I was knee deep in reading, searching and lurking a dozen other sites.

I [honestly] never considered a genre when writing poetry and probably couldn’t categorize if my life depended on it. But [speaking of dissing] I’ll share Thoughts on Writing from Getting Me Back.

Except from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

Thoughts on Writing  (The Requirements of an Author)

Desire: A congenital need to tell the story.

Determination: It is not enough to walk a couple of blocks or run five miles on a treadmill, come prepared to hike the Himalayas and explore the abyss.

An exoskeleton: A thick skin will not suffice — no indeed. Colleagues and critics are apt in the sadistic art of shaving and burning the thickest of flesh; their tireless wheel of pumice leaving the toughest callouses raw and bleeding. They will thin your skin; get beneath it and prove your vulnerabilities. Like a flesh eating bacteria they will consume you — kill you if you let them.

A poker face: Never let them see you sweat.

Gratitude: Because no one owes you anything!

Grace: For the rise and the inevitable fall.

Pills and booze and smoke: Because it is a hard and hateful world and you are not a god-damned ant.

A Little More Time

Hi y’all 🙋🏼‍♀️

My apologies for not blogging more but I have seriously been busy. I’m talking BiZZy!

We are just getting the house back to normal after February’s winter storm, Uri. I’m not sure why it’s (unofficially) referred to as Uri? 🧐

I did a web search and unless I overlooked a reasonable definition-I found nothing that applied to the ice storm. Feel free to educate me.

Anywho we are getting back to normal. Haller-lu-ya!!

[doing the happy dance]

So before I get busy this morning getting the yard and pond back in shape I will leave you with a #TBT.

A Little More Time was written in 1980 something, originally published in Pose Prose & Poems in 1998 and republished in the 2017 poetic memoir called Getting Me Back

A Little More Time

There’s an eagle out there soaring And my best friend is out whoring

Turning tricks of any kind

Doing anything to make a dime God forgive her for the crime

All she needs is a little more time.

On the roof three stories high

A junky cries and begs to die

Ain’t had a fix in several days Swears he can’t go on this way

Across the street a church bell chimes

Grant us please a little more time.

An old man sick and dying

Alone with no one crying

He grieves for all the pain he’s caused

For all the people that he’s lost

Outside the window painted mimes All rushing for a little more time

A woman labors down the hall

Her anguish echoes through the wall

But soon a laughter takes its place When she looks upon the baby’s face

For a moment all is sublime

As we are given a little more time

How I met Maggie & Almost Killed Clara #TBT

I was wading in the surf on Matagorda beach one warm, sunny day exchanging dialogue with Clara.

I had known Clara for about ten years and I have to admit, conversing with her was like pulling teeth. I don’t want to say she was dull, but she was too quiet and a tad introverted.

Don’t get me wrong, Clara is a lovely girl. She is smart and pretty and sweet and kind, but she was just too darn nice for the most part. Too calm, too reasonable, too… dull! There, I said it!

Anyway, as I was wading in the surf, dragging my feet (literally to scatter the sting rays) I was thinking how I might kill her. I know that must sound horrible, we had been comrades for so long, but she wearied me. Her unspoiled, hoity-toity, prim and proper, everything by the book personality made me want to send her sailing face down with the outgoing tide. I think she knew it (she has that sixth sense thing, you know).

I didn’t expect Clara to fight me; it wasn’t in her nature. She had been so silent and distant, I thought she had given up on life and maybe she wanted to die?

I had mulled it over and over in my mind and finally come to terms with my decision. Clara no longer served a purpose and she must be done away with.

Suddenly the voice of a perky little blonde caught my attention; she was running down the beach waving and shouting,

“Hey y’all wait for me.”

Oh my lord, I thought, while trying to ignore the thin, tanned Mississippian’s approach.

splash back.JPGGet it over with. I quickly shoved Clara toward the incoming wave but she didn’t budge; her feet were planted too firmly.

“Don’t make this difficult, just relax and go with the sea.” I filled my lungs with sweet, salty air and and shoved, harder this time. Again, she did not move and to my surprise she pushed back!

“Hey! Hey!” The Mississippian yelled, “What are you doing? Leave her alone dammit!”

I’m not sure why I obliged this person whom I had never met, but I stepped back.

I studied Clara, standing there quiet and unshaken. Her eyes fixed on mine and oddly, I no longer saw her as timid, dull and passive. I recognized the quiet strength she had held all along. “Do you know her?” I asked, referring to the woman approaching us.

Clara shook her head slowly and smiled, “No but you do. You met her on a trip to Biloxi once.”

I was speechless.

“Hey, I’m Maggie,” the lady smiled as she looked past me and held out her hand, “you must be Clara.”

I suppose it’s true that opposites attract. I watched Maggie come alive and in doing so she saved Clara.

*This is a story about a story. Clara and Maggie are safe and sound (for the most part) inside a fictional series.

Read about their meeting in Book 1

Thankfully there is no law against writers killing their characters and no penalty for attempted murder. 😉