Chapter 2

There seems to be a cold reality and harsh truth in the second chapter that clearly points out the difficulties of living off of publications. Making the book is the just first part of the process and not the clear way to profit. A lot of novice and first time authors might not know the difficult task beyond publishing. They could be facing hopeless avenues and aspirations. There are many ways to navigate the marketing world and if not careful, one can get overwhelmed. 

 After that an aspiring author must market and network with the public to find their intended audience. Venues such as the People’s Poetry Festival. Places like this is where one can offer readings as well as circulate and trade books with other writers, meet and engage with potential readers, and exchange information. When not in person, an author must also incorporate an influence online through social media like Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, etc. as well as personal blogs, literary magazines and features.. 


Chapter 1

The way technology has advanced has changed the playing field for many fields. This is an undisputed truth. The advancement of writing on the internet has done many marvels such as: making publication far easier to reach; bringing audience and author closer together for both feedback and resolve; spreading a message to a much wider audience; easier access to editing software and tools; etc.

            There is no doubt in my mind that this it is true, but it is also very easy to get lost on the way. There are now many more possibilities and route to choose that the choice can be overwhelming to authors, especially if the author is in the process of their first publication. With the ease of access comes the competition of standing out and being chosen by readers.

            The internet is a very vast place and can hold a lot of negative in it, as well as the positive. To say that browsing is turning minds to mush is a little extreme in that mindset. It really all depends on what is being read and if it catches the audience’s attention. Can’t blame poor readership on flashing lights and low attentions spans. Sometimes the reader wants to be engaged with. Sometimes a visual helps keep the focus on the work. Sometimes the reader just wants a casual experience and not have to go through all the bells and whistles. Each reading experience is unique in this day and age. If you don’t stand out, than you need to adapt.

Writing Exercise

  1. Two creatures searching for their respective families.
  2. The Boy who is generous and wants to find berries for his sister. The Wolf who is understanding and wants to find his way home.
  3. In a time where communication is possible between all creatures on Earth.

Back in a time when animals and humans weren’t enemies and could communicate, there was a boy. He had a loving family and great friends. One day he wonders into the forest to search for berries for his little sister. He gazes upon all the trees and flowers around the path. As a small mouse caught his eye he got curious and decided to follow it. The small mouse scurried around in search of food for its nest.
“Will you please spare a berry?” it asked as he finally caught up to it. Agreeing, the little boy handed the mouse one of his red berries. After saying its thanks, the mouse scurried back into a bush. Looking around him the boy realized he had become lost. Afraid and confused he wondered through the trees while whistling to a tune the birds had taught him when he was younger. After a long time, a wolf jumped out from a bush and growled at him.
“Go away!” it said. The boy watched it in slight fear. He didn’t know why this wolf was bearing his fangs at him.
“I’m looking for my family.” The boy explained. Nodding in understanding the wolf agreed to help him search. Not long after that the boy and the wolf became fast friends. The boy had learned that the wolf had lost his way as well. With the goal to help one another in mind, they both searched the forest, together.


“Bah Humbug” on his Christmas Hat.

A black that shines in the pale light.

A hat that only fit him just once.

Now it needs tape to stay up right.

Grumpy little smile.

Scaly little feet.

Stopping around the tiled floor.

Looking for a bite to eat.

My sweet baby Timothy.

Nothing pleases you so.

I try to give you hugs and pets.

You hiss tells me “No!”

It’s been three years since you hatched.

How did you get so big?

You a pickier than a human child…

Would you like to try a fig?

Lazy, moody tortoise.

You’ve mastered counting sheep.

You leave your room to explore at first light.

Only for a new place to sleep.

Christmas day has come at last.

You could care even less.

You plow through new obstacles in the way.

And leave behind a mess.


Obtaining the old, iron ladder from outside the house, one must be quiet to sneak it back in. I can only reach my sanctum with this key. Opening the wooden door to my room, I flinch at the sharp creek made by the plywood.


Unfolding the hinges, I level the steps flat against the closet wall. I wouldn’t have to go through this if the official ladder had been built in as planned. Careful not to lose footing, I climb to the very last step. The dry paint chips flatten against my toes as I reach as far back over the ledge as my height will allow.


With a carefully measured jump, I life myself onto the hidden floor above the closet. The ceiling fan swirls around casting shadows against the white top. Fully inside the safety of the plaster, I avoid the edge like a baby bird before it learns to fly.


According to my grandfather when he was adding my room and the porch to my mother’s house, my bed was attended to be up here. The holes for where the rails would have been were the only reminder of that promise. Unfortunately, mother didn’t agree with that plan and had most of the “Second floor” sealed off just as the attic was, leaving this narrow ledge.


I have the ability to lay here, but it would still be too dangerous to sleep. Placing my back firm against the widest corner, I watch the shadows above me dance. The music on my iPod drifting to the back of my mind. The smell of the mahogany colored wall paint still lingered here, but it has been for long since it’s bothered me. Here I am at peace.

A Story

My parents… named me after the flower they were allergic to.

I was born… in June.

I was born… in California.

My father… neglected me.

My mother… abused me.

When I was nine… they left me on the streets.

I was… discovered by a teenager.

He… took me to an orphanage.

For the next few years after that… I grew up in foster care.

He visited me… often.

When he graduated… he adopted me.

We moved… to Munich.

He went into… a major business company.

Because of work… we moved a lot.

I currently live… in Japan.

I now have… an adoptive little sister.

Her name is… Koi.

She was… abandoned too.

The story goes on… but that’s for another time.