Imagist – Fiction / Poetry / Photography
The beauty of online communities, networks, publications, is the abundance of information available. We can learn anything, from anyone, at any time. However wonderful this is, there are too many traps to fall into: Learn from the Teachers A lot of advice–a lot–comes from novices, learners, students. This may seem fantastic, a fresh pool of … Continue reading Of Sycophants & Haters
Whenever an artist, a craftsperson, a chef creates something identifiable as his or her own, the underlying differentiator is the story. Forget the words, brush strokes, hammer marks, tool grinds, ingredients; the only thing—the only quality—that matters is the story. What remains from the creation is not only ‘object,’ but ‘narrative’ of why that object … Continue reading There is nothing but a story
We have always been told to learn from our mistakes. It’s a simple enough concept: don’t repeat things that don’t work or things that are bad for you. Wear shoes when you walk on gravel. Don’t stick your tongue to the pole in the schoolyard in winter. Simple. When it comes to writing, the concept … Continue reading Never Erase
(especially in the war against ai) The most important aspect of writing is voice: that feel, sound, or signature thing that makes a piece identifiable as a particular writer’s work. Inevitably a writer just starting out will copy a mentor’s voice—subconsciously or not—to start understanding what makes it interesting. Then, through craft, experience, more reading, … Continue reading Voice over everything
they watched & abetted…
The birds wait patiently for a place at the feeder, but the grackles and starlings swoop in and scare them off into the nearby trees. They hack and fight and bully their way to the seed and suet cylinder. With utter disregard, they peck, pick, gnaw at the bounty, overfilling themselves, never leaving. Then, weak … Continue reading They are scared
Everything is monochromatic this morning, from the grey-white sky to the grey-white snow. The birds have conspired to emphasize this colourlessness. Cardinals and blue jays sing in the distance, unseen, while juncoes and chickadees pick at the black oil sunflower seeds in the feeders. Below, two squirrels wait for scraps – one black, one grey.
When traffic flows, all lanes at the right speed, all drivers in the zone, the commute feels like surfing. The wave is perfect. But then, ahead, a flash of red, a tap of the brakes, and the tube crashes, knocking us down, drowning.
I remember, as a young boy, learning that the earth spun. I was so excited by the prospect. Yet, with my eyes closed, I couldn’t feel any movement. My mission was simple: I needed to prove it. Before bed, I lined up a Hot Wheels car with a tree far away across the street. I … Continue reading Microcosmic
R L Raymond 