A few days ago I released my first Kindle collection of poems, The Virginia Chronicles and Selected Poems. I couldn’t be more excited. Having been a shadow writer for years, barely mentioning the fact that I wrote to anyone, and then beginning to release my poems on this blog a couple of years ago, the idea of actually putting myself out there in the marketplace has been daunting.
What would happen? What kind of reaction would my writing receive? Wild applause, or the sound of crickets chirping in an empty night?
Most likely, somewhere in between.
I think a lot of writers and artists in general, those who didn’t start early in life or follow a linear career path, have been to the place I am now. Move already. Fish or cut bait. Get this out of my head, out of the familiar, comfortable realm of my own head and DO something. Show the universe that I’m serious and willing to do the work — not just writing, but the work of attempting to get read.
And so, one small step for a man. The Kindle book is out there, and the skeleton of my Amazon author page is up. It’s no small victory for this 40 year old shadow writer.
I want to thank you for reading this blog, and thank the people in my life who have encouraged my writing and tolerated my intractable resistance to exposure. They saw something in me that I’ve been at times unable and at times unwilling to see. I’ve been blessed with many people like that in my life over the years.
And I’ll resist the urge to go on and wax poetic, at least for the moment. If you’d like to check out my author page you can find it here.
If you buy and read the book you’ll have my eternal thanks — especially if you reach out and let me know your reactions and thoughts. And if you feel it’s worth a read, you might pass the word along or lend it to a friend. And in any event, watch this space, because God-willing there’s more to come.
Thank you for reading, thank you for writing. Thank you for holding up a mirror and showing me that this urge to create and share isn’t a luxury, isn’t a waste of time, isn’t a distraction, isn’t just ego and pride — it’s one of the most basic human drives, and it serves vital functions. It loosens bonds, weakens the mortar in fortifications, narrows uncrossable rivers, deciphers unintelligible tongues, and every so often wins a pitched battle, or a heart.
So much for resisting the poetic urge. Hell, no apologies — that’s why I’m here, and probably what brought you here too.
New York City