I still have a full-time day job, which is why it took me five years to write An Ear to the Ground, and why I won't have another book finished by next week.
quote by Ken Thompson
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I am 55 years old now. It takes three years to write one book. I don't know how many books I will be able to write before I die. It is like a countdown. So with each book I am praying - please let me live until I am finished.
quote by Haruki Murakami
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At that time, I had recently finished a book called Amazing Grace, which many people tell me is a very painful book to read. Well, if it was painful to read, it was also painful to write. I had pains in my chest for two years while I was writing that book.
quote by Jonathan Kozol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faded Pages
Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
one story and one story only,
but a friend of mine at the time
persuaded me to write another and another.
Before long, a volume was finished
with enough stories to start another.
From a one off story I have written over sixty now
about the cat and all his friends.
Now as I flick through these faded pages,
which I haven’t read in years,
I find myself being reunited
with many long lost friends.
26 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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I just finished my 11th book last week, so I'm ready to start the next one.
quote by Gloria Stuart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book
If I write a book,
Would I approach
You to write its
Review?
Why?
If my book is
Worth reading,
Wouldn't you be
Tempted to write
Its review?
Why should I
Use you for its
Marketing and
Publicity?
If you like my book,
You'll yourself feel like
Sharing with everybody
It's an instinct
That comes
Naturally…
We believe in
Loving and giving,
And so if we genuinely
Like something,
We'll recommend it
Or choose it for gifting
So if I write a book,
I'll never beseech you
To write its review
I would rather wait
For you to feel free
To read it and perhaps
Write its review…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The History Of You And Me
Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Yaahh! The history of you and me....
Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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As soon as I finished the first book, I wrote a second, which I hope to sell this year, and I have just about finished the third book in the series. Two more are already outlined. I'm in this for the long haul.
quote by Richard Helms
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The Mole
Said he: "I'll dive deep in the Past,
And write a book of direful days
When summer skies were overcast
With smoke of humble hearths ablaze;
When War was rampant in the land,
And poor folk cowered in the night,
While ruin gaped on every hand -
of ravishing and wrath I'll write."
Ten years he toiled to write his book,
Yet he was happy all the while;
The world he willingly forsook
T live alone in hermit style.
In garden sanctuaried sweet,
Full favoured by the steadfast sun,
plunged in the Past, a life complete
He lived. . . . At last his work was done.
A worthy book that few would read
Yet all would praise - each precious page
Starred with some truth the rare would heed,
The vivid images of an age,
Then blinking, to the world again
He came a sage, remote, austere . . .
When lo! his eyes were smote with flame,
The wail of war was in his ear.
He shrank and sighed: "Oh can it be
These old iniquities prevail!
That sons of men are still unfree
And time repeats her sorry tale!"
So with a long sad gaze and last,
Seeking his secret garden nook,
He slipped again into the Past
To live - and write another book.
poem by Robert William Service
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What If I Do Not Have To Do Anything Anymore?
What if I do not have anything to do anymore?
What if I am finished?
I have written what I could write
I have gotten to where I can get
Not very far
But it was what I am capable of -
What if I am finished
And all I have to do is rest
And write small poems
Bad or good as they are
And not even these
For the rest of my life?
What if I can say to myself
I need not try anymore
Because I can do no more
And I am finished?
What if I am done
And can take relief from this
While still longing to do more
And dissatisfied with where I have not gotten?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Non-starter and his nook
His clock has stopped for some days
and he is not interested of time.
But the time is passing
and he is not worried.
His room is full of incomplete writing papers
but the book is not finished yet
and the publisher's advance has spent.
The spirits evaporated and the empty bottles
rolled here and there.
He writes and erase then spill again
but the spineless characters
won't stay any longer in his book.
and they all run away.
He heard the siren of an ambulance
and the scholar takes for Schizophrenia?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Yeah, I was a local hero. It was great for me, 'cos I had a full house every night all night seven nights a week for five years that I played. The next five years I just played five days a week, but I still had a full house every night.
quote by John Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Teachers Are Afraid Of The Pupils
Theres too many people
Planning your downfall
When your spirits on trial
These nights can be frightening
Sleep transports sadness
To some other mid-brain
And somebody here
Will not be here next year
So you stand by the board
Full of fear and intention
And, if you think that theyre listening
Well, youve got to be joking
Oh, you understand change
And you think its essential
But when your profession
Is humiliation
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
Mucus on your collar
A nail up through the staff chair
A blade in your soap
And you cry into your pillow
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Im very glad the spring has come
The sun shines out so bright
All the birds that are on the trees
Are singing for delight
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Write The Book
Nick lowe/dave edmunds/billy bremner
Plangent visions music, ltd.
Now I can remember like it was only yesterday
Love was young and foolish like a little child at play
But oh how lovers change -- I never dreamed how easily
cause now Im just a shadow of the boy I used to be
And when I write the book about my love
It will be about a man whos torn in half
About his hopes and ambitions wasted through the years
The pain will be written on every page in tears
When I write the book about my love
I was a fool to myself when I kept on runnin around
And I fared little better when I tried settlin down
Maybe some magic moment
Ive never known one, not for long
For all too soon the magic is in a moment gone
And when I write the book about my love
Itll be a heartbreaking story about love and luck
When I get down on the pages all I felt
It will make the hardest-hearted of critics hearts melt
When I write the book about my love
When I was young love was fun and I was so happy
I looked so good, and I dressed so snappy
Two-tone shoes on my feet, big old smile on my face
As I moved and grooved all over the place
Now Im down in the heels, my complexion is bad
cause my love life is sadder than sad
And when I write the book about my love
Itll be a pop publication, tougher than tough
When I get down on the pages all I missed
It will shoot to the top of the best-sellers list
When I write the book about my love
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Week From Today
A week from today it will be the sixth anniversary of the day the towers crumbled.
A week from today the vivid pictures will flash across the television screen remind us of that day.
A week from today mothers, fathers, sons, daughter, friends and even strangers will gather at ground zero and weep as they remember the death the saw that day.
A week from today the President will get on television as we are grieving and remind us this is the reason we’re in Iraq.
And a week from today just like today I will look at my television and yell to the president that is bullshit. You SOB you used our anger and hunger for vengeance of that day to make us believe war is the only way to fight terrorist.
My heart goes out to all those who died from this war and those who died on what will be six years ago A week from today.
End Of The Week
I get out of work
And then I throw away all of my cares
I get out of work
And then I wash the week out my hair
Monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday
Its hard as could be
But by old friday evening
Were free, were free, were free
End of the week
The weekend started
Been working so hard to play
End of the week
Its time to party
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Youre tasting freedom
No one to push you around
End of the week
And life has a reason
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Street are alive
You know everybodys going somewhere
You put on the slide
You gotta beat the crowd just everywhere
And all the music all the dancing
Get you so high
And all that sweet romancing
Oh my, oh my, oh my
End of the week
The weekend started
Working so hard to play
End of the week
Its time to party
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Feels good now
Feels good now
End of the week
End of the week
Its real good now
Real good now
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I write synopses after the book is completed. I can't write it beforehand, because I don't know what the book's about. I invent something for my publisher because he asks for one, but the final book ends up very differently.
quote by Jackie Collins
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My first book took five years to write and I made $1,000 on it. The second took three years and I made $3,000. All this time I was a housewife being supported by a husband. I was very lucky.
quote by Judith Rossner
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How funny it would be if dreamy I
How funny it would be if dreamy I
Should leave one book behind me when I die
And that a book of Law—this silly thing
Just written for the money it will bring.
I do hope, when it's finished, I'll have time
For other books and better spurts of rhyme.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Autographing (Fun Poem 78)
For years and years,
I wanted to be published.
To actually see my name in print
to be able to hold a book up
and say that it is all my own work.
However, not once did I think
of the problems that might bring.
I never though of the sore hands
and blistering knees
I would get from autographing
the books for all my friends.
It is not a choice I don’t relish
as I do it with heartfelt ease.
It is just that I am so tall
and to sign a book
I have to get on my hands and knees.
Now my hands are full of calluses
and my knees full of blisters.
What more can I say,
except thank you
for listening to me today.
10 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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