When I first entered school, I didn’t know anything.
When I received my diploma, I thought I knew everything.

When I first entered college, I didn’t know anything.
When I received my degree, I thought I knew everything.

When I first entered the workforce, I didn’t know anything.
When I received my first promotion, I thought I knew everything.

When I first entered parenthood, I didn’t know anything.

. . . Some things never change.

I came across a link today (via K.M Weiland) to a post on AuthorCulture with a fun challenge to write a sentence illustrating redundancy.  I played around with the idea today while multi-tasking, in true IT fashion.  What I finally came up with ended up more like a tongue-twister than a redundant sentence, but once I began to hear it in my head I stopped thinking about redundancy and was struck simply by the way it sounded.

In my recent fiction writing efforts I had forgotten how much fun words can be, not just for their precision, but simply for their sound.

I’ve posted the sentence I wrote below along with a challenge of my own.

“He knew he didn’t know what he didn’t know, but knowing he didn’t know it didn’t mean he didn’t need it and he knew he needed it more than he needed to know it.”

Okay.  Now it’s your turn!

The challenge:

Using alliteration or assonance, or both, craft a sentence that’s simply fun to hear.  Write something, anything!  Don’t worry if it makes sense (think Dr. Seuss if that helps), as long as it sounds interesting then post it in the comments if you’d like to share.

As for me, I’ve started hearing all my neglected poetry calling out for me to come and play this weekend.

Maybe I will . . . it sounds like fun!

by John Rea-Hedrick
Thursday, December 10, 2009

To wait is the hardest thing to do.
Potential energy held at bay
awaiting kinetic birth.
To be poised between the before and the after,
to be next,
or nearly there.
It is a tease to the mind
that raises the fibers of the brain
like the hairs on the skin
before a lover’s touch!
To build in anticipation
aching for the moment to arrive.
To hold on just a little longer
for that expected reward.
To lean just at the point of
overbalancing
on the edge of almost . . .

I never knew waiting could be such fun!

by John Rea-Hedrick
Tuesday, December 1, 2009

If a lifetime of wisdom could be summed up in a single word,
no mouth could utter it.

If a lifetime of love could be felt in one beat of one heart,
no flesh could contain it.

If a lifetime of joy could be expressed in one shout of one voice,
no ear could perceive it.

If a lifetime of hate could be emblazoned in one act of destruction,
no force could withstand it.

If a lifetime of suffering could be experienced in one spasm of pain,
no soul could endure it.

If a lifetime of regret could be realized in one flash of insight,
no mind could conceive it.

If a lifetime of experience could be extinguished in one final breath,
noone dare not risk share it!

by John Rea-Hedrick
Saturday, November 28, 2009

I said goodbye to my friend today.
Rather more like to the promise of a friend,
Or was it simply to the promise of a promise?
It’s hard to say where friends begin.
But this is where they end.

by John Rea-Hedrick
Thursday , November 19, 2009

Most of my life has been spent
with my eyes below
the horizon.
When sunset comes,
I have missed the day and often
I have missed that I have missed it.
Oh to see the sun when it rises and follow it all day long!
To hold that vision when the shadows come;
and take it with me
to sustain me
until the next sunrise.

Another creative writing experiment!

Around or so a year ago I wrote a short story humbly entitled ‘Life’.  It was based on the germ of an idea which I expanded into an 800 word flash fiction piece for a writing contest.  I came across the story last week in my OneNote archives and found with time and distance I wasn’t happy with it after all.  (I’m not sure if that’s part of the process of perspective or if it’s a symptom of my inner critic.)  I still found myself drawn to the theme and so I wasn’t content to simply leave it in its newly recognized, inglorious form and wanted to resurrect it (pun intended).  However, rather than simply rewriting it, I decided to reincarnate it (yes, another pun) in a different form – a poem.

I’ve blogged before about how writing formal poetry helps me when I get stuck when fussing over words while writing fiction.  In retrospect, I seem to be building up with quite a collection of such poems, more of which I’ll post here I’m sure.  (I’ll have to explore in a future post why all my poetry seems center around the themes of questioning and meaning.)  For those who like to experience poetry on your own, I suggest skipping down to the end of the post and reading the poem first, before reading the following description of what it’s *about*.  You may get more out of it on your own without the intrusion of my thoughts and intentions getting in the way.  Well-crafted poetry after all should say much more to the reader than the words alone put down by the poet.  We’ll see how this one measures up.

In the original flash fiction form of ‘Life’, a man named Peter awakens, not from a dream but from within himself, and inexplicably finds himself standing in a crowd before a colossal *thing* that he can neither understand nor comprehend.  No one in the crowd knows what it is either.  Nevertheless, everyone seems to have their own ideas about how to build it.

Peter encounters and talks to a man (with ideas of his own) who’s keenly observed, year after year, countless people trying in vain to make the thing work.  Bewildered by it size and its confused construction Peter turns to examining the people doing the work.  Eventually, despite the other man’s insights, suggesting the futility of trying, Peter eventually succumbs to his own desire to try and make it work his way.  Shouting above the din, he presses into the crowd towards the structure only to disappear among the throng.

The reincarnated form is not an attempt to retell the original story as a poem.  Rather, it’s simply another expression of the theme.  Per my previous post, I have a particular fondness for the English Romantics and for poetic structures with fixed rhythm and meter.  I intentionally wrote this poem in an alternating 8-6-8-6 meter with each stanza, or 4-3-4-3 depending how your inner ear likes to keep time.

*******************************

by John Rea-Hedrick
Sunday, November 09, 2009

It stood too massive to behold -
Assault upon the eye.
Stretched out across the stark landscape,
It blotted out the sky.

True sense rebels; this construct with
A form so skewed and vast,
Ere mortared brick, which was its frame,
Could equal to the task.

And yet it stood for all to see
Though none knew what it was.
Rare few betook to plumb its depths
While others grew its walls.

The builders, insect-like, did trace
rough paths beneath the sky.
From birth to death, their life-force spent,
Yet never could it die.

No organizing principle
Directed common work,
As each, with varied skill and sight,
Blessed, each, their self-same worth.

And at its feet a crushing throng
Where king and king’d alike,
Brick-laden, press to try their hand
At unifying might.

An endless strained processional,
Emboldened by vain pride,
Each seeking to unite the rest,
Yet lost amid the tide.

Forever beyond human pow’r
To shape it to its own;
Eternal generations rise
To fall upon its throne.

********************

I’d love to hear how the poem strikes you.  What ideas or feelings does it invoke?  What parts do you like or not like and why?  Leave a passing comment and tell me what you think!

If there’s enough interest in the poem, I may post the short story, such as it is, as well.

Let’s face it, for any writer submitting their work for publication then rejection letters are inevitable.  However, it’s best to think of these letters as the really are – a part of the journey, not the end of the road.  With that in mind, I’d like to share an experience of my own I recently had along the way.

Back in July, I entered one of my poems, Shizaru Undone, in the New Millennium Writings summer poetry contest.  (Incidentally, NMW runs simultaneous contests for Fiction, Short Fiction and Non Fiction as well).   Like many contest entrants I checked their website periodically (sometimes a bit obsessively) and eagerly watched my email for the contest results.

The following October I received the email from NMW indicating the poetry winner had been named.   To my great disappointment, it wasn’t me.  With hopes still high, I quickly scrolled down through the email to the Honorable Mentions to see if I’d made that list.   Nope.  Still not there.

Well, I brooded (mildly) for a while before deciding finally to post the poem to my blog.  Contest or not I wanted other people to be able to read it.   At least then I might receive some comments from people who’d read it on it might have affected them.

Three days later, to my surprise and delight, I received a follow up email from the editor of New Millennium Writings, Don S. Williams, thanking me for my recent entry.  Regardless of whether or not this was a form letter (and it doesn’t read like one to me), I for one appreciate the effort and the thought it took to send it at all.  Not only did Mr. Williams take the time to follow up with me after the contest was over, but his message serves as a pleasant reminder that real people are sitting at the other end of those contest submissions sites.   Depending on how many contests you may enter (this was only my fourth – two previous fiction and one previous poetry), it can be easy to forget.

So I didn’t win this time.  Maybe next time, if I chose to try again.  Maybe not.  For now at least, I feel good about having tried just the same.

Thank you, Mr. Williams!

(With permission, I’ve included the complete message below.)

***************************************************************

Congratulations on Your Fine Showing in the New Millennium Writings contest…

Nov. 5, 2009

Dear John,

As one who often enters contests I know how it feels to send a piece of writing off and never hear back. So here’s a note to let you know you did well in the New Millennium Writings competition that had a final deadline of July 31, 2009. Although you didn’t win, you were one of the writers who made it to the next to final round of judging in our always competitive awards contests for poetry, fiction, short-short fiction and nonfiction. About 100 poems made it to the semi-final round and were selected from some 1,000 total poems. Read past winners at www.newmillenniumwritings.com. The quality in our contests is high, and you should be proud of your accomplishment. I am. Feel free to print this letter or email it to others.

In answer to frequently asked questions…

* "Shizaru Undone" was the work that made it so far.

* Your strong showing does not disqualify you from re-entering your work or any other work unless they previously appeared in a book or magazine with over 5,000 circ.

* Works that have appeared only online are eligible too.

* Yes, you may enter in this contest (or any other contest as far as we’re concerned) as often as you like.

* If you’re interested in the next contest, which has a deadline of Nov. 17 (this may be extended once only), please visit www.writingawards.com to enter online, or follow guidelines below.

* Watch for your free book to arrive in about one year.

Mostly, though, I just want to congratulate you on your fine showing and express my appreciation for your interest in New Millennium Writings.

Sincerely,

Don S. Williams

Don Williams, Editor and Publisher, New Millennium Writings

donwilliams7@charter.net

by John Rea-Hedrick
Monday, November 10, 2008

I look each morning toward the sun
and find a new veil freshly hung.
In vain I seek to break to the bond
to see what truth lies just beyond
this ragged fringe I comprehend,
which like a shattered prism bends
my each attempt to know what’s true,
to see it in its naked hue
and own for once the smallest part
of something real within my heart.

I listen all across the earth,
but only hear an echo’s worth
of hollow voices that compete,
some with honey dripping sweet,
others with a sound like thunder,
tearing my beliefs asunder,
come to plunder seeds I’ve sown,
convicting me what I’ve well known
that this life’s burdened fruit I bear
is all for me with none to share.

I call each night on empty sky
though faint of hope for a reply.
In shadow cast by waning moon,
in aching fear of closing gloom;
against all hope, for I a wretch,
while nailed into this tomb of flesh,
still seek to know what life could hold,
this mystery I can’t unfold,
but no fair voice does it return
save mine alone for me to spurn.

I see no writing on the wall.
I hear no comfort sounds at all.
I speak; no voice answers my call.
No force exists that can forestall
this; our legacy begotten -
to forget and be forgotten.

*******************************

Inspired the seldom seen fourth Japanese monkey (‘do no evil’) of the well-known ‘see no evil’, ‘hear no evil’, ‘speak no evil’ trinity, this poem is another outcome of my explorations of formal structure to free up my fiction writing.  Written in iambic tetrameter it’s composed of three ten line stanzas followed by a six line envoy.  The rhyme scheme is organized in non-repeating couplets; no rhyme repeats throughout the entire poem.  The only exception is in first four lines of the final stanza and is done for emphasis.  Each stanza opens with a allusion towards the fourth monkey while exploring the experience of the each of the other three.  All other observations I could make I will withhold and will leave Shizaru Undone with you to make your own.

by John Rea-Hedrick
Friday, November 07, 2008

Among the waking buds of Spring,
I watched a robin, silent, sing.
Was it for me he sang his cheer?
This vision, voiceless, seemed so queer
That he should call without a sound;
And yet, his mate, circling, came down.

In wonder at this trick of nature,
I gave myself to their adventure.
They, silent, then sang out together
In unison of beak and feather.

And when they danced as birds will do
With beating wings my heart beat too.
And when they cut across the sky,
With one to nest and one to fly,
A scene I’ve seen, yet without sound,
Was something lost, or something found?

*************************************

Note:
My wife and son are both hearing impaired.  As a result, we as a family often view the acoustic implications of certain locations for social gatherings differently than most people do.  Noisy restaurants, for example, can make relaxed dinner conversation anything but.

Hearing loss runs strongly in my wife’s family and so we recognize the very real possibility of total hearing loss for anyone affected.  This poem was inspired one afternoon while I was sitting outside watching and listening to a pair of birds in my back yard.  As I watched I wondered what it might be like to see the birds only and not hear them.

Consider that as you read or re-read it and let me know what you think.