Essay by Jules Paige, a member of the Congress of Rough Writers.
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“How complex in its simplicity or how simple in its complexity; is writing. Much to think about that is for certain,” and so she thought…
How do I describe how I write. I put a pen in hand or place fingers on a keyboard. Do I need prompts? When I started writing about fifty years ago; while sitting at a table at a Teen Arts Festival, I asked those who stopped by for a subject – I then wrote a poem. Simple as that.
While some years I wrote less, other years I wrote more than one piece a day. For the last several years, I write a small daily piece, maybe adding a longer verse and or a fiction piece as well. Prompts sites on the web reintroduced me into writing fiction and memoir. Some have a limited word count. But generally I try to limit myself to one ‘typed’ page. Though I also have done/do series. Some evolving into chapters which could possibly make it into booklet form.
I see prompts, quotes, images and the light bulb in my brain goes off. And to challenge myself further I combine prompts as few as two as many as five or six. I make associations to memory, news articles and anything else and everything else that crosses my path.
I write for amusement. Perhaps guided by a muse. Though some may argue that muses do not exist. Maybe my muse is my own intuition, which often unconsciously picks up even the most subtle of cues. I write for myself as well as everyone who believes they can see themselves in something I have written. I can not explain how my brain works. I just like to, I just have to, write. For me writing is like breathing. A necessity of my life.
I write as JulesPaige (or as evolution has occurred; just ‘Jules’) because words are like ‘jewels on a page’. Not all are gems. But a good lot of them strung together are fair enough.
Daughter, sister, friend, poet, wife, mother, and grandmother. More introvert than extrovert, inspired by nature and pretty much anything.
About (me, sort of):
I’m just an old leather boot
not army boots, though I once thought about joining
however early rises and following someone else’s rules –
you know that a rebellious artistic spirit just wouldn’t work there
trying to walk on a catwalk
or eggshells, being the ‘monkey in the middle’
Jane of all trades, master of none, little bits of knowledge
tucked between aging marbles and greying locks – still young at heart
and nobody cares because
Oh maybe there are a few, but I’m not in the spotlight
and frankly that’s OK too – If you are looking for frilly lace
and a made up face – you’ve come to the wrong place – I’m not a rock and…
I’m not a plastic mock animal high heel shoe.
Always young at heart, humor is a big part of my life. While I’ll celebrate turning sixty this year, I still like to tell the story of how while vacationing with family that not once but twice I was mistaken for my oldest son’s wife. But I can be very serious, and have had bouts with depression after the loss of my maternal mother at a young age, and having to move many times as a young child. Even in my very healthy marriage I’ve had several homes with my loving husband whom I often write about, like in this renga:
she found a book by
an author he liked, and placed
it by his pillow…
he found it and asked her where
she found it… ‘charity shop’
so that night they read
when politics aired instead
of a favored show
“We love being in love, that’s the truth on’t.”
William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863)
The Book Of Hearts: Visions of Love in Word and Image
Running Press * Philadelphia / London
Through the internet I’ve learned many different short forms of poetry and experiments with combining them, even creating a new form called a Shadorma Summation. Where a haibun is prose that has haiku (within and or) ending the piece, a Shadorma Summation does the same with the six line syllable counted verse like this (first attempt in September of 2015):
(free verse/ shadorma haibun? Shadorma Summation)
Definitely and defiantly a horse of a different color.
She never did have one of those pink princess ponies.
Now she was getting on to be an old grey mare.
That reflection in the mirror could just have well been
in the smooth reflection in an aged fine wine.
Doppelgangers are not twins.
Are most of us really triplets; me, myself and I?
Grammar notwithstanding or sitting either, I suppose.
It all has to do with one’s id, ego and superego –
Are all horses of the same color, Thoroughbred?
The person I am becoming…ever evolving…
empathetic humane human, valuable, priceless?
Trying consistently constantly to remember the worth of
my being – self awareness, self forgiveness,
self indulgent; enough to give myself some hugs
Looking up what the human body is worth
can be deceiving; dead or alive – pieces and parts –
from about $3.50 to about $9 million
which doesn’t take into account what one
person’s actual artistic or intellectual value might be.
Definitely and defiantly wake up each day
Rule it with passion, exploration, devotion – It’s all better
than being lead astray through some unknown dark alley
where you might not know which way is up,
especially if you forgot to pack your compass rose.
as she was
a fish in a bowl
out of her
it was all she could do to
step back, look and breathe
I would like to be a published author, but I know that poets are hard pressed to get agents. I’d have to hire a secretary, and I’m not terribly fond editors who seem to like to change the tone and value of even short pieces. Having also almost been taken by some vanity publishers, I’m wary of the whole process and don’t feel skilled enough self publish via the web. Though I have put together several booklets and have just given them away.
Jules Paige, a Rough Writer for Carrot Ranch, writes every week for about a year and a half since she found the ranch through another blog friend. You might think so, but she is not a professional writer or at least hasn’t been paid any money…yet. She’s been published in school and college journals, congregational services, a narrowly themed chapbook and a local newspaper. She also entered and got an honorable mention in a haiku book contest. She has been ‘published’ on her friends blogs for haiku and Elfje and for prompts in flash fiction, non fiction and memoir. Jules also has a few pieces published in a book overseas that is raising money for charity. A self proclaimed opinionated rebel, born in the south, but northerner by life, Jules is thankful for all of the friends she has made throughout the world via the net. And is most grateful for the opportunity to write for Carrot Ranch and be one of the Buckaroos.
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Raw Literature is an ongoing conversation about those first works we create as writers, as literary artists. Guest Authors share personal insights on their craft, its process, the experience of creating raw literature and what they do with it. Carrot Ranch is a dynamic literary community that creates raw literature weekly in the form of flash fiction (99 word stories). If you have an essay idea, pitch to Charli Mills, Lead Buckaroo, at email@example.com.