Image copyright Craig Letourneau on Pixabay
learn nothing from growing pains
knowing only self
know the notes
If all you wanted was that snip of a Senryu, you're done here.
However, I have a horrible, awful idea, and I am about to enact it.
I am combining today's poetry post with the monthly IWSG post.
Ready or not, here it is.
OPTIONAL QUESTION: When you think of the term working writer, what does that look like to you? What do you think it is supposed to look like? Do you see yourself as a working writer or aspiring or hobbyist, and if latter two, what does that look like?
You asked, I deliver.
I have never before thought of the term "working writer," and, after today, I will probably not think of it again.
I am a writer who works on my writing and hopes that one day people will like it enough to pay for it.
I have no idea what it's supposed to look like.
If people call me a hobbyist, they will wind up decomposing in my locker.
You're welcome to call me a hack. I can't force anyone to have good taste. But a hobbyist I'm not, at least when it comes to things of a literary nature.
I'm a hobbyist with my loom knitting. I'm sporadic and not very good at it.
I'm a hobbyist baker. Results may vary. I do get upset when they don't come out nice. However, I am not a professional.
I work on literary things from sunup to sundown.
I guess that makes me a working writer, even if I am a horrible hack.
Yeah--that's about it.
I worked to write this poetry, and it will be published by me in a volume, probably sometime before the end of the year so you can buy it for yourself as a Xmahanukwanzyule present.
If you want more poetry of questionable literary value, Imma hook you up right here.
This post was conceived and birthed using these prompts:
By the way, I don't think that narcissus, AKA daffodils, are arrogant, stuck-up flowers. My poem uses an alternate interpretation of the prompt.
This poem was posted to these places:
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The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)
Copyright 2020 by Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld
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This post is dedicated to Eddie Van Halen (January 26, 1955 – October 6, 2020) and not because I think he was a narcissist. I'm rather sure he wasn't. Eddie was a hard-working and innovative musician, and although I even play the kazoo badly, he was one of my life's influences because of his creativity and determination. So, the fact that you are reading this today can partly be blamed on Eddie.
Working writer is another of the definitions which don't mean a lot to me.ReplyDelete
Anyone who strives to improve is most definitely working. And this reader applauds them. Loudly.
Thanks for visiting my IWSG post. I too am not sure exactly what to call myself. I have never earned anything from writing but I do consider it more than just a hobby.ReplyDelete
I won't call you that then!ReplyDelete
Yes, very sad about Eddie.
"I am a writer who works on my writing and hopes that one day people will like it enough to pay for it. I have no idea what it's supposed to look like." YESSSS!!! Couldn't have said it better myself. :)ReplyDelete