William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Writing’

Passager

With practice, there comes trust and confidence in one’s own footing; a rocky path and its frequently changing grades is a joy and a meditation; there is no need to survive or prove or conquer; there is only the path, and there is not the path, but a kind of spirit-communion and spirit-passing; a presence, and not a presence. The same may be said of drawing and writing, or of […]

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Ross Freeman

How beautiful, and how strange, the sense of continuity, harmony, and balance that keeps a lifetime of writing and reading suspended, as it were, or meaningfully afloat — such is memory — and as I hold my glass up to the light, I am surprised to find it still full.   Ross Freeman He went to the window and closed the drapes. His typewriter on the table looked like an […]

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Brevity

I use words to show none are needed. And I smile. “Brevity Loves Company” Recently Banned Literature, February 4, 2018   Brevity As each petal is wise in the purpose and symmetry of a flower, so must be the words we choose, each an action with a will to bloom. Be brave, be brief, beware the power you wield; thoughtless use is profound abuse. Brevity is depth of character, the […]

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July Rain

The art of making it rain, I learned from my father. That I am here to explain, I learned from my mother.   July Rain Dying is such old work — I settle the dust in our yard with a hose. Poems, Slightly Used, July 5, 2009

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Fewer Words

Q. Do you have any advice for writers? A. Yes.   Fewer Words Fewer words, and fewer still — until you find yourself rich pulp, seed blessed, sweet juice, expressed. Recently Banned Literature, July 13, 2015

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To take a lifetime to write it, even when it appears quickly and suddenly on the page.

To discover how deep are its roots, and how bright its leaves.

To see the space around it, the light behind it, and the shadows it casts.

To listen to it breathe.

To marvel at its strength, in a savage and brutal age.

To die for it, if that’s what it takes.

To read through the fire, and write from the grave.

Canvas 1,207 — May 10, 2018

Canvas 1,207 — May 10, 2018

The Sentence — Canvas 1,207

On Any Given Day

Way back in my story-writing days, which might not yet have ended, it didn’t take much to get me going. For instance, a beginning could be as simple as this: She cooked her porridge without mercy. His dreams were potatoes and onions. And with that, the mean lives of two characters bound by fate were readily suggested. But they wouldn’t be all bad, as none of us are. In all […]

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That We Write Each Other

I make no distinction between our online and flesh experience; wherever we are, whatever we are doing, this is the room we are in; this is our meal between us; this is our joy, and pain, and grief, and doubt.   That We Write Each Other That we write each other in this way fulfills a very old promise. And the promise is this: that those of us not met […]

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Work Notes

I love how a trace of rain transforms a garden, even one that is already doing very well. I see the same in the neighbors and in myself. Our greens are more vivid and intense in the charged atmosphere; our purples and reds draw notice from the hummingbirds. I wonder now if, in all my years of writing, I have ever used the word aura. I think not. But it […]

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Melody

However patiently and faithfully I try to record the quotidian, I find it becomes charged with memory and dream, as if these states of mind or being are infused with a fine mist, like that which heightens the illusion of any natural scene. Set down the most common of items, and it buds and flowers before the sentence ends.   Melody Words are living things. Sometimes, through ignorance and arrogance, […]

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