Every poem I write is pared to the essential.  That was the one lesson I had to learn over and over in my two years of creative writing.  The beauty of a written piece is always what is left out–the empty spaces.  I had to look at my poems repeatedly to see what was necessary to say.  I do not have to say something directly if it was said already even if was only said implicitly.  Some teachers may use the statement, “Show don’t tell”.  This is very difficult to do since it is my own work.  It is hard to view it objectively.  Of course, a good editor helps this process.  It is very common for a beginner to resist this process.  Everything they write they think is “gold.”

I am a little luckier than most:  my wife is a fine editor.  I do not hesitate to change something if her advice is on target.  If her criticism is right, I will make the necessary changes.  Your instincts have to be accurate.  If a line (or a phrase or a word) can be taken out and the poem still stands, it was not necessary.  Sometimes the opposite is necessary:  you need to add something.  There may be ambiguity you don’t want or maybe you want it there.  You, also, may have to rearrange some lines.  Your piece is not coherent.  The reader can’t follow the poem easily.  What are you trying to achieve with the piece?  Sometimes that is not an easy question to answer and may determine the changes you make.  You always have to make the decision when to leave the poem alone (and come back to it later) or whether it is even worth working on.  Every word has to count.

All I can do is just give it away.  It is my gift to you.  It is all I have.  Sometimes people I know read it.  Often it is strangers.  It is my gift.  My time.  I don’t know what else to do but give it away and hope someone out there benefits from it.  Life is full of treasures.  I only sample a few.  And share a few.  As I said, it is my gift to you.  Whoever, stumbles upon it.  It is all I have so enjoy it.  Mull it over if that is your pleasure or spit it out.  It comes from my core.  It is what I am.  And I don’t apologize.  It is me.  Maybe you will meet me halfway.  Maybe, not.  It is all I have.

You have improved my life.  It goes beyond the obvious.  The material.  The house we live in.  We both love books and music.  And the house is bursting with them.  We both share a deep love of both.

The web site and blog you had a major hand in formatting.  I never would have started either if it wasn’t for you.  One and one really make three.

I prepare meals for you gratefully.  It is a privilege for me.  The two CD’s of my poetry came about for you encouraged me to recite my poetry in public and praised my delivery.

I never had such a large living room window and we watch the birds come to our feeders.  If you had not loved watching birds as much as me, it never would have come about.

I play my music for you all the time.  I usually play “DJ”.  That is a privilege to share my music.  We grew up in the same time frame and are familiar with quite a bit of the same music.  That is a gift.

You make me laugh and that is also a gift.  I write more funny poems because of your encouragement.

There are so many ways you enrich my life and these are only a few quickly stated ways.

The local paper is more interesting to me than the Sunday regional paper.  The accounts in the first paper are more personal.  Sometimes they are about people I know.  Other times the articles revolve around regions I am familiar with.

The news is more relevant to me.  I can’t always identify with the articles I read Sunday.  Sometimes the writing in the regional paper is too generic.  I want to read about news that affects me.

I live in a county that until recently had no red light.  Now it has one.  And that was news in the “Sun”, the local paper.  There is too much news in the “Patriot News” I just don’t care about.

Of course, the “Patriot News” has its place.  Lately, though, the Sunday paper just collects dust.  And I don’t miss it but I do “The Sun” when I don’t read it.

It only takes five or ten minutes to read but it is news I am always interested in.  It is always more personal.

The beauty of a superb piece of writing (as a gorgeous musical composition) is what is left out–the empty spaces.  A writer does not want to confuse the writer (???) with clutter.  Every thing that is not necessary has been taken out.

You want every word, every phrase, every sentence and paragraph to matter.  I always said that an excellent editor is worth their weight in gold.  It is very difficult for the writer to see their piece objectively.

You always need someone from the outside who you trust for their advice on your written piece.  Sure you need to do everything you can before you submit your piece to someone else.

Nevertheless, at some point you need to present your piece to someone else for their opinion.  You have to be very careful who you choose and when to do this.  You have given your piece your all.

Now it is time to let someone else read it.  Everything that gets in the way has to be taken out or changed.  You want every word to count.  You can not do this by yourself.

You always need a mission to write and at the same time you must have an imaginary audience.  It is that audience which gives your writing focus.  It is striving to reach them which will give you the words you need to complete your mission.

The words necessary to reach your audience will come if you know why you are writing.  You may not know how to get there but the words will materialize as you make your journey.

Your only job when you are complete with this leg of the journey is not to confuse the reader and take out everything that gets in the way.  If you can still delete your passage and your writing stands it was not necessary.

You always need a mission to write and that always comes first.  Know why you are writing.  And to whom.  The words always follow.  They do not come first but are always last.  Start with your mission.

You do not need special equipment to write (nor a degree) just a pen or pencil that writes and some paper.

You can write anywhere or on anything available.  No special journal or special places.  Anywhere.  No excuses.  All those specials conditions just get in the way.

I always carry two Bic pens on me (in case one peters out).  They are cheap.  No special or favorite pen.  I write in blank books.  They are plain notebooks.

I try to get different colored ones and always keep the most recent in the same place.  But if my “muse” is telling me to write and I am not near my journal I grab the nearest paper within reach whatever it is wherever it is.

I am not bound by my journals.  Again, you do not need special equipment to write.  No special degrees.  Just do it.  Everything else is excuses.

I want to get up slowly (when I can).  First, I may throw some sweat pants on, make coffee and wake up gradually.  I don’t always have that privilege, but most times I do.  The dogs always want to go out in the yard immediately and are not shy about it.

I often get up before my wife although that is not always the case.  If she is still sleeping I try to walk around quietly.  I make sure our “menagerie” has food and water.

After I am sufficiently “coffeed up” and I am awake I start looking around and figuring out what tasks need my attention.

Before that though, if my “muse” is telling me to write or edit, I obey it, then return to my duties.

Before all that, after I am fully alert I may do a quick devotional and sometimes find myself thanking the Lord for all bounties.  This often happens spontaneously.

My wife may have some requests for tasks that need my attention.  At some point, I check our postal box and peruse our mail, being careful to put our bills in the proper file.

In the afternoon, I sometimes have appointments to go to (usually doctor’s or blood work).  This is typically my routine.

My world is interconnected.  There are so many people I owe thanks to.  And I am sure I will leave somebody out.  A thanks to my primary doctor who takes goood care of me.

A thank you to our retired electrician who did some work in our house this year.  My wife still loves that lamp you installed over the sink.  And we have three new electric radiators and two new thermostats.  There is nothing like heat in the winter.

Thanks, to Bob, who willingly answers my questions about “ailing” cars.  Thank God I have not needed you too much this year and our 2006 SUV is behaving well.

Thank God to all my listeners at the Open Mikes.  Their comments encouraged me and kept me writing.

A thanks to Mike whose comments in his letter to me I have picked up occasionally when my spirit dropped.  I am sorry your best friend died unexpectedly.

There is Sonya, our postmaster, who always asks how I am doing, everytime I drop by our post office.

A thanks to the team of doctors that takes care of me–my nephrologist, etc.  There are so many people I appreciate.

A thanks to the small church I go to–its pastor Pete and the many people I have become friendly with from there.

I know I have left out people.  My sisters who had an hand in making my trip to San Francisco by train a reality and who both support me and care about me.

Philhaven, a thanks to for helping get me past a rough patch.  You all know who you are.

And all my pets, particular my dogs:  Pax who always comes to me when he wants something.  And Tilla whose tail never refuses to wag when he see me.  And Coco is a real sweetheart.  And don’t let me forget Sweetie, who is just that a sweetie.

And that is just the dogs.  Thanks Cool Hand Luke, the last pet still alive from my Duncannon days, a black cat, who often keeps me company on the bed.

And most of all my wife who is always there and gives me a reason to get up each morning.

Every once in awhile I think about our house and what will happen to the things in it when we are both gone. Clearing and sorting through my wife’s Moms’ stuff after she died was a major task.  In fact, we had to make three trips to Texas to accomplish to that job.

I told my wife someone one day will have to do that to us.  You can’t take your things with you when you are gone.  That fact does not make any difference to her.  More things keep coming in our house.

I look around our house and know when the time comes someone will have a major task in front of them.  And a lot of things that are here and we would not get rid of will just be trashed.

I do not want to say my wife is the only one that collects things.  I collect music–CD’s, LP’s and cassettes.  I also collect books and they are practically in every room, some still in boxes so I am part of the problem too.

I thought what might be valuable if both of us are gone and would like to pass on:  my journals, my wife’s writing which is scattered–not much.

Even the value of those am not sure I will have any say over.  From dust you come and dust you will return.  I have to remind myself of that.  And maybe consider what truly has value.

Writing is foremost communication. You may be writing to an invisible audience. And you may not even be aware of your audience but it is there.

Writing is one type of communication. It is not publishing although you may seek that but never lose sight of the fact you are “reaching out” to someone.

Yes, it is a feather in your cap when someone wants to publish something you have written. Never lose sight you have to write and it may be in your case a major way you communicate with others.

The more personal you can be the more others can relate to your struggles. Your writing can’t, simply, be generic. Everyone has struggles and others are interested in yours whether you choose to write fiction or non-fiction. It always has to ring true.

As far as I am concerned fiction is non-fiction disguised. It may not be autobiographical but nevertheless the writer has to delve deeply in their own psyche for their writing to be authentic. And it is always communication. No matter who the audience is. You always have one.

I can’t be fifteen seconds or more from a pen that writes. My wife likes click pens. The only trouble with them half the time or more they do not work (or are “unstable”, my words).

I spent fifteen minutes or more gathering all my pens in the house that I could find and sorting them.  I pulled out the Bic pens, which are usually reliable. Then I put a collection of them in three different spots in the house.

One is now in my office, one in the living room and another near the computer. Now I know exactly where they are. I am no more than a few seconds from any of them in the house.

Of late, I was getting a bit frustrated finding a pen that works.  This was driving me a little crazy–finding a pen that writes immediately.

Now I can sleep more soundly. I know exactly where all my Bic pens are. They usually do not disappoint me. And if they do, I just throw them away. They are cheap.