Haiku (an acrostic poem)

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How do you get better at something?

Almost always the answer is doing

I have been writing a poem a day for the past nine years

Know that sometimes they were bad, but sometimes they were good

Undertake a journey today and read some.  The link below is to all 3,287 …

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Edit (an acrostic poem)

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Evaluating his writing decisions

Dan sat there with his red pen and whisky bottle

It was too long before both were empty

That was when the flames in the fireplace grew larger

Lunch (an acrostic poem)

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Looking at his sandwich, he wondered if there was a better way

Unless sliced bread was the height of sandwich technology

Now he pulled out notebook and began drawing diagrams and writing notes

Completing one design before discarding it for the next, and after some time many pages were filled with scribbles

However, soon the clock told him to go back to work, and the sandwich was still there, taunting him

Trash (an acrostic poem)

The rubbish he was writing piled up around him

Rambling ideas clashing with the other balderdash

Any semblance to story was pure happenstance

So when he was just about to throw the refuse away

He stumbled onto what he was going to write.

 

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Paper (an acrostic poem)

Putting things in writing was what James preferred

As digital copies couldn’t be trusted

Pen scratching along a surface made something physical

Electrons changed too quickly

Really he just liked making airplanes out of his writing when it didn’t work

 

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Writing Craft (a 100 word story)

Tim looked at the shards and fragments of his many broken story ideas.  He poked through their remains.  Each was as pretty as a stained glass window, but every time he tried to hang one on a sheet of paper they would come crashing to earth.  Now they were just jagged pieces of color.

He almost just threw it all away when he had a thought.  He began to nudge the pieces together and laying new prose as the glue.  Soon a new, even more vibrant, picture began to emerge.

Tim wondered if that is why they called it craft.

 

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In the Beginning (a 100 word story)

The darkness grabbed onto his words and crumpled them into tight rejected wads of failure.  He typed with such a frenzy to keep ahead of the monster, but it was faster than his imagination, consuming all his ideas and dreams.  It then had the nerve to regurgitate its partially digested remains onto the page.

He tried to rearrange the mess into something that hinted at his intentions, but he was not a forensic investigator.  The work seemed dead.  And to think he thought he was a writer.

He consoled himself.  “Well, it’s a start.”  He saved his work and shut down.

 

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Found (an acrostic poem)

Four years ago Sable set out to find herself

Outside of her job, she had nothing holding her back

Undertaking this journey met getting rid of everything

Now she is a digital nomad roaming, writing, and ever searching

Don’t know if her quest will ever be successful, but the journey is amazing

 

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