#Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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He was a hard-boiled journalist
who believed that truth was so soon buried,
he would outscoop his colleagues
so that he could put it all out there ASAP;
she was a soft-hearted historian
who believed that by letting the dust settle,
the truth would either present itself
or degrade altogether.

She had an overactive imagination,
he, an overactive pituitary,
yet it was she who told the tallest stories,
him being the only one who understood any of them,
for his head was as much in the clouds
as her feet were off the ground.

He was journalism,
she, reality TV.
When they came together,
they created the fake news
that surpassed every rating
they’d ever had.

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Stopping Something Old to Start Something New

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Sometimes you don’t know when the last time will be the last time, but as I was slogging through a group project for my Literacy for Emergent Learners class (btw, group projects only benefit the slackers, not the doers, as I’ve spent a lot of time “collaborating” via email and text when I could’ve been learning something and being productive), I realized that I needed to shift my focus.

When I saw the Writer’s Digest poetry prompt today, where I had to use 3 of 6 words in a list (one of my least favorite prompts, btw), I realized, after three years of participation, that it was time to retire “Writer’s Digest Wednesdays.”  November Poem-a-Day challenge will be coming soon; even though I feel I’ve mastered it, my focus needs to be on finishing school and building my (paying) writing career.  

I’ve always said that serious bloggers should blog at least twice a week, so #Micropoetry Mondays and #Fiction Fridays will be a mainstay, as those posts I can schedule in advance.  My work-school-life schedule has gotten too intense, and I’m ready for the shift to less timely writing projects. 

The time I’ve spent on my Wednesday blog installments has been well-spent—it’s instilled in me the power to meet 24-hour deadlines (which are a must in the incredibly shrinking newsroom), it’s helped me write a ton of poetry I wouldn’t have written otherwise, and it’s helped me cross over the 1000-post threshold—but I’m looking forward to working on longer form projects.  

I can finally work on editing my novel (for about the eighth time).

I will still post my short Instagram poems on weekends and writing tips on my Facebook page, but it’s time to do more “behind-the-scenes” writing on a regular basis.  I’ve already proven to myself that I can write something everyday; now, I want to work on projects that will take at least a week—projects I will actually take the time to edit.

I also want to learn how to illustrate my own work.

I enrolled in University, thinking I would be writing for the student newspaper regularly until I graduated, but I’m shifting focus to freelancing gigs.  I might still contribute an article if I happen to be attending an event that interests me, but creative writing will always be my first love (I don’t have to worry about transcribing audio or having to deal with flaky people whose information or interview I need to write my article).

I realize I’ve spent a lot of time writing for sure things—my blog, the college newspaper, etc.—instant gratification pieces. 

Now, it’s time to get serious and start writing those query letters.   

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Me, in one of my many offices, after a particularly trying day.

#Micropoetry Monday: The Writer’s Life

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She was criticized for writing puff pieces
as light & airy as meringue,
but only those who knew her best
knew that she had many thoughts beyond
food & entertainment & all the little extras
that connected people of all kinds–
she just didn’t have the time
nor the energy
to deal with hate mail.

Blackie & Blondie had journalists for parents,
& so they grew up being asked
Who, What, Where, When, & so forth.
They learned how to remember
the important things,
so that they could tell the stories
that were true.
These stories they told of others
inspired them to live the kind of lives
worth writing about.
Because their parents had asked them questions,
they had learned to do the same
with everyone they met.
Though they’d been called inquisitive at best
& intrusive at worst,
they did learn something most valuable,
& that was how to take an interest
(& a very human one at that)
in other people.

She wrote the life she wanted,
only to realize that as she mirrored her life
after her own creations,
she was writing her future.

#Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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When the crime scene photographer
met the wedding photographer,
the former brought stark realism to her life,
& the latter brought whimsical idealism to his.

They were the bloodhounds of bloodlines,
for she used DNA databases to catch cold-case criminals,
he, to reconnect people with their long-lost relatives.
Her work brought justice, even as his brought joy;
they saw what they did not as a career,
but rather, as the fulfillment of a calling from a higher power.

He spent his life preserving old things;
she spent hers creating new ones.
When she found him in the archives
& he found her in the newsroom,
they realized they both had something
to offer the other:
Perspective.

#Micropoetry Monday: The Writer’s Life

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From the fast-paced world of journalism
to the more dead than alive contributors
of the literary one,
she was constantly changing gears,
trying to balance these 2 different animals;
the latter she could put her whole self in,
the former, she had to learn to leave herself out.

Creative writing was in her blood,
journalism was in his bones.
When she donated a pint
& he donated some marrow,
they had gone beyond just
writing about life
to giving it back.

Her office was her day job’s breakroom,
her car,
her conference room.
Lunch hour was still an hour,
her lunch,
5 minutes.
With her portable phone & computer,
she freelanced her way to another byline
which,
for this junior reporter,
was a natural high.

#Micropoetry Monday: The Writer’s Life

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The creative life was not a lonely one,
for those who were captivated by her creations
were led to wonder about their creator.

The newspaper had given her all the facts:
Who had taken her daughter out of the world,
the date & location her silencing had taken place,
what he had done to her
& the manner in which he had done it,
but the why eluded her.
To get that answer,
she had to go to the only one who knew it,
for without the why,
the rest would not exist.

Through her writing,
her readers saw her soul first,
her flesh,
second.
And when they met her,
they saw not a personality,
but a person with one.

Poem-a-Day April 2019 Writer’s Digest Challenge #9. Theme: Love/Anti-Love #aprpad

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The Drive-By Media Whore

Constance Porter had coined Tunnelgate,
Plazagate,
& Graffitigate,
plus half a dozen others.
Con had never met a strawman she didn’t love
or a gotcha question left unasked,
for the exploitation of even the most useless information
feathered this goose’s nest egg
by getting people to care too much about things
that didn’t amount to a molehill of beans,
distracting them from the real, less interesting news.

https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2019-april-pad-challenge-day-9