Would You Suggest Writing as a Career?
- Thread starter mjp
- Start date
I write a lot actually, though I've never been published. Some is in Portuguese, some in English which is a second language but not really as I probably have more books in english than Portuguese.
I use pen and paper most of the time, a small fraction is online. I don't do poems, but rather I like to polish small paragraphs depicting detailed real situations or stream of consciousness stuff.
Some examples: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 Short Story: Scars, 8 Short Story 2: Knots.
It's nothing much, but it's a sampler I guess.
I use pen and paper most of the time, a small fraction is online. I don't do poems, but rather I like to polish small paragraphs depicting detailed real situations or stream of consciousness stuff.
Some examples: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 Short Story: Scars, 8 Short Story 2: Knots.
It's nothing much, but it's a sampler I guess.
"Great poets die in steaming pots of shit."
the shower - no father luke.
when i was young i'd take long showers;
that lasted an hour or longer.
and i'd pray in the shower;
to God.
and tell him of all my sins,
to take care of my mother, dad, sister and cats.
it felt like a holy cleansing.
then one day my mother asked,
"why do you take such long showers Thomas?"
and my sister shouted in a teasing tone,
"he's jacking off!"
i was fourteen years old then;
i still take long showers,
but i no longer pray in there.
labor day - no father luke.
the rich sleep in today,
the poor wake up early and head to their mundane jobs.
the streets are less flooded,
the only traffic jam is the drunk driver who felt brave 5 minutes ago.
her keys jingle in the ignition,
like for whom the bell tolls.
and at work, we're workers on a holiday.
while the rich are enjoying the sales at stores,
we hustle for the rent, for the power bill, for survival.
and as we drive home,
it does not feel like a holiday.
but we are thankful that the traffic wasn't bad today.
when i was young i'd take long showers;
that lasted an hour or longer.
and i'd pray in the shower;
to God.
and tell him of all my sins,
to take care of my mother, dad, sister and cats.
it felt like a holy cleansing.
then one day my mother asked,
"why do you take such long showers Thomas?"
and my sister shouted in a teasing tone,
"he's jacking off!"
i was fourteen years old then;
i still take long showers,
but i no longer pray in there.
labor day - no father luke.
the rich sleep in today,
the poor wake up early and head to their mundane jobs.
the streets are less flooded,
the only traffic jam is the drunk driver who felt brave 5 minutes ago.
her keys jingle in the ignition,
like for whom the bell tolls.
and at work, we're workers on a holiday.
while the rich are enjoying the sales at stores,
we hustle for the rent, for the power bill, for survival.
and as we drive home,
it does not feel like a holiday.
but we are thankful that the traffic wasn't bad today.
i just wrote this
im failry new to bukowski, but the way he writes inspired myself as a writter to write a poem about a girl.
i want your honest opinions on this.
if you dont like it, tell mee why, i need constructive crit.
i havent titled it yet.
hre it is
---
The scheduled day was at its close
as i say my goodbyes to joe
i take the first left leading me down a series of winding roads,
the sun beating down on my poorly airconditioned chest
i never would have thoughtthat id find my place of solitude on the road home
Alone in my van
I let my mind wander
it goes where it pleases
sometimes to the days of the past,
sometimes to the days to come
but lately
i find myself more often than not,
thinking about you
sure i have my thoughts of work,
and the songs that seem to get so easily stuck in my head
but subconciously,
i drift off the road
and as i grasp the wheel to return to my path
i get caught up in the things we talk about
i wonder what life would be like with you in it,
i wonder if you wonder the same
as the vehicle of my mind continues to stray from the highway
i realize that i cant stop this new behavior,
and as i think on,
i declare that a man would have to be crazy to want to stop this
i slowly convinced myself that THIS (however dangerous and destructive) is what i want,
and that this is what i need
i feel the van skid,
and i feel it swerve
there are unfamilliar scraps of metal,
and glass
buried deep inside my skin
i can feel heat of the fire,
i can hear the screams of passersby
my head grows lighter from bloodloss
my vision gets hazy
All is calm now,
all is exactly how i left it
I ease my foot down on the brake pedal
as i pull into my driveway
i shut off the car,
step out into the sunlight,
i can see the red door
and i can smell teh summer air
I am home,
but i am not alone.
---
thanks for reading,
- clay
im failry new to bukowski, but the way he writes inspired myself as a writter to write a poem about a girl.
i want your honest opinions on this.
if you dont like it, tell mee why, i need constructive crit.
i havent titled it yet.
hre it is
---
The scheduled day was at its close
as i say my goodbyes to joe
i take the first left leading me down a series of winding roads,
the sun beating down on my poorly airconditioned chest
i never would have thoughtthat id find my place of solitude on the road home
Alone in my van
I let my mind wander
it goes where it pleases
sometimes to the days of the past,
sometimes to the days to come
but lately
i find myself more often than not,
thinking about you
sure i have my thoughts of work,
and the songs that seem to get so easily stuck in my head
but subconciously,
i drift off the road
and as i grasp the wheel to return to my path
i get caught up in the things we talk about
i wonder what life would be like with you in it,
i wonder if you wonder the same
as the vehicle of my mind continues to stray from the highway
i realize that i cant stop this new behavior,
and as i think on,
i declare that a man would have to be crazy to want to stop this
i slowly convinced myself that THIS (however dangerous and destructive) is what i want,
and that this is what i need
i feel the van skid,
and i feel it swerve
there are unfamilliar scraps of metal,
and glass
buried deep inside my skin
i can feel heat of the fire,
i can hear the screams of passersby
my head grows lighter from bloodloss
my vision gets hazy
All is calm now,
all is exactly how i left it
I ease my foot down on the brake pedal
as i pull into my driveway
i shut off the car,
step out into the sunlight,
i can see the red door
and i can smell teh summer air
I am home,
but i am not alone.
---
thanks for reading,
- clay
THAT is excellent! Very funny. My kind of shit.ProfessorRiffs said:
I have always been a writer. Not necessarily a good one mind but people like my stuff and I have often been prompted to get my manuscripts in front of publishers. To me writing is a personal thing. An expression. It's nice to share it with others in the hope that they get enjoyment from your words. I've written hundreds of poems and seven draft novels along with countless short stories. Here is a poem I wrote in 1993.........
The accident
The club footed man fell over
he'd slipped on a biscuit
she baked the biscuit
the woman from number 43
She loved those biscuits
....and one from '97
Nausea
We fall, fall
from grace with ease
and self preserving
Notions of love
filled with gin
and shandy
yet nonsense forms
and beasts eat words
from tongues of whores
and vile it seems
no shoes today
or pairs at least as
one will do
One with a sock
on my left foot
and a hat made of straw
and the suspicious
aroma of death prevails
idol
torn
dead.
Be at one they say
for the train comes now
to take your beans
and egg on face you smile
timid
lucky and broke
fat arse swaggers
and purple bishop rises
a new dawn
beat that meat and
let fly white caviar
the fucking bitch
wants more
the whore!
not my best stuff but it's a little taster for now.
thanks for reading
P
postino
Reading Bukowski encouraged me to consider writing. Most of my poems are pretty different from his, but here is one that is similiar to his style
when we were cavemen we all talked like this...
The bottle runs to a dribble.
The last suckle a perfume scented midrif
A fortifying sanity
In a ring of books
Scenes of winged cloven destruction flash as scythes
Skyborn doom trembles in my heart
trepidation as to my fate.
Charles was a pioneer
Of truisms.
"The earth is not round, it is flat,"
he would say.
"the writing is read in different directions,
in the east right to left, in the west
left to right. This is because the
people are trying to escape the end of
the world by reading away from it."
"god will take who he will
I was seven years old, he took my motha
I wanted to kill him but I'll catch him."
"He takes who he will"
"You meet Eve, then you'll know Steven."
Steve says. Charlie says
I think when we were cavemen everyone talked like "uh uh uh uh'
lol
Bukowski's writing inspires me and uninspires me to write at the same time. It makes me want to mop the floor with him, because at my best I'm a lot better than Bukowski. But at the same time, my values conflict with his strengths as a writer. He simplifies literature into intellectual baby food, and it loses some of its toughness because it's been filtered for meaning. That leaves me a little uninspired, that this guy could have just taken a piss and called it literature.
when we were cavemen we all talked like this...
The bottle runs to a dribble.
The last suckle a perfume scented midrif
A fortifying sanity
In a ring of books
Scenes of winged cloven destruction flash as scythes
Skyborn doom trembles in my heart
trepidation as to my fate.
Charles was a pioneer
Of truisms.
"The earth is not round, it is flat,"
he would say.
"the writing is read in different directions,
in the east right to left, in the west
left to right. This is because the
people are trying to escape the end of
the world by reading away from it."
"god will take who he will
I was seven years old, he took my motha
I wanted to kill him but I'll catch him."
"He takes who he will"
"You meet Eve, then you'll know Steven."
Steve says. Charlie says
I think when we were cavemen everyone talked like "uh uh uh uh'
lol
Bukowski's writing inspires me and uninspires me to write at the same time. It makes me want to mop the floor with him, because at my best I'm a lot better than Bukowski. But at the same time, my values conflict with his strengths as a writer. He simplifies literature into intellectual baby food, and it loses some of its toughness because it's been filtered for meaning. That leaves me a little uninspired, that this guy could have just taken a piss and called it literature.
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bospress.net
www.bospress.net
postino said:
then why are you here? I would not waste my time on a forum devoted to the writings of someone that I thought was crap....
And why the avatar that says "viva Bukowski"?
Bill
I think postino is just trying to get us to read his blog.
hey, why didn't I think of that?
hey, why didn't I think of that?
mjp
Founding member
I did try to read his blog. It makes me want to mop the floor with him, because at my worst I'm a lot better than postino. He pounds literature into intellectual pizza, and it loses all of its flavor because it's been filtered for calories. That leaves me a little hungry, that this guy could have just taken away the cheese and called it pizza.
Father Luke
Founding member
postino said:
i don't know what the technical term is, but us pomos just call this being jealous
bospress.net
www.bospress.net
Father Luke,
Don't be so "Witty & Unorigianally Macho"!
Bill
Don't be so "Witty & Unorigianally Macho"!
Bill
P
postino
contrary to certain strains of thought, I was never trying to get someone to read my blog, I didn't even think of it, I was just displaying my writers angst about Bukowski. I have a lot of angst and I'm not a very good writer. I'm a better painter. But still, I think the best stuff I have written was better than anything Bukowski wrote, except for born into this.
bospress.net
www.bospress.net
"Born Into This" the movie is his best writing? Or are you referring to his poem "Dinosauria, we"?
Also, there are many,many writers that think that they are better than Bukowski or Hemingway, etc. 99.9% of the time, they are not.
Again, I don't understand why you would waste your time on a forum for a writer that you think is crap, unless the goal is to just cause trouble.
Also, have you read any Bukowski, or just watched the movie and based his 50 years of writing on a movie?
Bill
So, you're not very good, but you're better than Buk. Got it.
Perhaps you should use this next time you post here:
best buk quote:
'and i am still not very good. but they are still very bad'
'and i am still not very good. but they are still very bad'
P
postino
I love Bukowski's writing, but I love it cause it's so different from anything else. I called it baby food because it's so easy to read. I've read all of his novels, a couple of his short story books, and thumbed through three poetry books. I don't take it seriously, it's too well written to take seriously.
mjp
Founding member
This is funny for the same reason are funny.
Black Swan
Abord the Yorikke!
Why don't you really show us your stuff?
Just a few lines
We'd all love to read your very best.
P
postino
Here's a sex scene that I wrote for my novella "Karma Junkies" It's posted as the first thing on my blog. I think it's a pretty fly sex scene.
[snipped suckage]
Karma Junkies
[snipped suckage]
Karma Junkies
mjp
Founding member
Yeah, that's real fly, baby.
Go ahead and link to your blog post and show everyone how supremely talented you are. I removed it from your post because I don't want that stink-ass high school creative writing class garbage on here.
There's your second literary critique. Don't choke on it, puppy.
I've come to the conclusion that you're having a laugh, which is fine, but find some other chumps to try your moves on. Maybe there's a Hemingway forum out there you can turn on its ear with your awesomeness. You sexy pomo cocksucker, you.
Go ahead and link to your blog post and show everyone how supremely talented you are. I removed it from your post because I don't want that stink-ass high school creative writing class garbage on here.
There's your second literary critique. Don't choke on it, puppy.
I've come to the conclusion that you're having a laugh, which is fine, but find some other chumps to try your moves on. Maybe there's a Hemingway forum out there you can turn on its ear with your awesomeness. You sexy pomo cocksucker, you.
P
postino
can't jive with the dope stuff, eh babe? I just reread my novella and I still think it's as good if not better than anything Bukowski wrote. I'll tell you what, Norman Mailer and Truman Capote are the only writers I consider my soups. Creative journalism is where it's at. Karma junkies was partially inspired by Factotum, my counselor suggested I read it when he heard I was writing the story of a transient labourer. After reading it I felt like my writing was more effective than Bukowski's, who never bummed around Manhattan. I don't want to plug my blog but since you all made an issue out of it...Karma Junkies
Don't worry, I'll put a good poem on here. I wrote this in my Brown university leatherback notebook while I was in Mclean.
The looking glass is hiring-
[so go get a job and leave us alone]
Don't worry, I'll put a good poem on here. I wrote this in my Brown university leatherback notebook while I was in Mclean.
The looking glass is hiring-
[so go get a job and leave us alone]
Father Luke
Founding member
postino said:
i wrote this wiping my hands on my shirt:
still
i was outside pissing
and looking at the moon
I don't have anything to say.
Maybe I'll just look through
my old stuff and rework something.
In the time it would've taken
to cut and paste
i
wrote
this
instead
but i still think you're jealous
- -
Okay,
Father Luke
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P
postino
You do no doubt
have talent,
but can you
howl at moons
of your fathers and
your fathers fathers?
do you have the talent to reach
into the patriarch and
putt with boticelli
in your mitt?
have talent,
but can you
howl at moons
of your fathers and
your fathers fathers?
do you have the talent to reach
into the patriarch and
putt with boticelli
in your mitt?
Black Swan
Abord the Yorikke!
Okay. . .
my humble opinion
this text shows me that you can write and spell sex
a xxx video would reach the same type of people.
Having said that, I do not read Bukowski to get turned on, I read him because he is human and witty and that I can relate to his experiences.
He is a hero even when trying to tie his sholaces .
Your hero Alex sounds like a porn star. Your text wants to impress and shine forcibly. The exploits of a sensasional porn star fucker. . .
Sorry,your Alex turned me off with his bionic engine
to me, Hank remains the one with balls , soul and a heart. . .
he leaves something precious with his reader that lasts.
P
postino
one and a half sex scenes in the entire novel, and you think my character is a porn star? Did you read the surrounding circumstances? He found a diamond in a potato at a deli, and he smoked crack and took shrooms, then he had sex once and got a blowjob. It all makes sense in the context. That story is all about context, and that's what ties it all together. I don't think you even read the whole thing.:mad:
I think that the sensationalism of the story is modern and original. Bukowski uses sensationalism very often, it's just understated. For example, when Alex broke the door on the communist headquarters, and then outran two cops, that was a symbol of destruction of power hierarchies. It's also a reference to an old communist conspiracy involving public servants in New York. When he fucks the hooker, it's the catalyst for his fall from grace, and eventual death in the mines. It's all about karma, and loving whatever awful things it brings. What did you think of the end? there's a couple of errors on that draft I noticed, but I feel it's a happy ending.
I think that the sensationalism of the story is modern and original. Bukowski uses sensationalism very often, it's just understated. For example, when Alex broke the door on the communist headquarters, and then outran two cops, that was a symbol of destruction of power hierarchies. It's also a reference to an old communist conspiracy involving public servants in New York. When he fucks the hooker, it's the catalyst for his fall from grace, and eventual death in the mines. It's all about karma, and loving whatever awful things it brings. What did you think of the end? there's a couple of errors on that draft I noticed, but I feel it's a happy ending.