Here is a short poem inspired by the newly launched Patreon campaign 'People for the arts' peopleforthearts.org #forthearts.
Although I don't live in the U.S, as a writer know how important it is for the state of any country to support its creative industries. When the state tries to subjugate these rights via obtuse legislation we have to wonder 'What is it the state trying to hide by suppressing the voice of creative expression?'
Thus we must not sit back as a creative community and allow the suppression of artistic free speech in any society, because often this is how we express a snapshot of ourselves which helps to educate the generations that come after us.
With this in mind, I decided to tackle the issue in the best way I know how, and hopefully show some solidarity for those creators who might still ultimately suffer from these funding cuts in the future. Hope you like it:
Another story I wrote when I was in my twenties, as I started out with a young family. I soon discovered with this tale that as a writer some stories only resonate with a certain audience and, while many may find the following story slightly corny or simply won't get it, others will know exactly what I was aiming for and think it brilliant.
At the very least I hope you can empathise with the hero's struggle and not groan too much at the ending...
This is a short story I wrote for a creative writing class I did in college during my twenties. The idea was we had to pick a phrase out of a hat which had been put there by one of the other students and write a short story based around it.
I greatly enjoyed writing this piece, as it gave me an opportunity to write something funny for a change, rather than the very serious stuff I had been writing up to that point. I remember reading it out aloud in class the following week and finding it very difficult to stop myself giggling, as the rest of the class was laughing at it around me.
It was my first real taste of how a well crafted humorous story can really grab an audience's attention. The story made the end of term anthology and is still one of my favourite pieces...
Here is a poem I wrote when I was in my teens, some time after visiting a house where a widower had recently passed away. The man's wife had died about 18 month's previously, as I recall, so the sight of the now empty house, with the belongings still inside and pictures on the wall, had a profound effect on me, as it was my first memorable experience of life going on after the death someone's close relative.
It got me thinking about how the house must have been a proud family home once, full of laughter and memories, and now it was to be sold on to a new owner who would have no comprehension of the good times, and sad, which had come before. But also the realization, from myself, that this is what life was all about; death unfortunately comes to us all, and the ones that are left behind simply have to move on.