Posts

Hurry

    Her hand grips mine tightly, her babble runs free Little legs pumping briskly to keep pace with me I notice and slow, though my thoughts flit ahead To the comings and goings all planned before bed She reaches for flowers, she reaches for rocks I cajole and discourage with urge-along talks Blue eyes fill up quickly, frustration so clear A trembling lip heralds tears drawing near With a sigh kept internal and resigned, knowing smile I return to the riveting rock and twig pile Again, erupt giggles and sparkling eyes A pleased-with-self grin that’s a little too wise As we ooh and we ahh over non-descript stones Many people stream by, ears pressed to cell phones Ensconced in the moment, testing which twig might bend I no longer hear Time and its march without end  
Post a Comment
Read more

Critic

  As a writer, your inner critic is the one you truly need to silence. And yes, by silence I do mean in the manner of a mobster. You must slide your hands around her throat and squeeze until she ceases thrashing. She will of course reanimate, as she is an undead monstrosity that lacks the need for oxygen, sustenance, or internet connectivity. She feeds on the juices of your crushed spirit. So be resolved in your requirement to silence her again and again. Flex your fingers and exercise your grip strength with a stress ball, because you will need to perform murder upon her many, many times. She, this internal critic, is far more destructive than any external critic. External critics are plentiful and hovering, ready to pounce. At the ready with a pitcher of cold water for your smoldering dream. Not those that you seek out, humbly, for advice. Not those precious critics that you respect and who care about you and/or your work. Their constructive criticism is a valu...
Post a Comment
Read more

Truth

Truth is not found, uncovered or unmasked. It finds its way unbidden,  Alights on fingertips outstretched, Seeking those who quietly listen, With clear eyes, clear mind, clear heart. Unfettered by the noisy cacophony of me and mine, Of take and use, wants and needs, they and them,  Love and hate, small and great. Truth flutters out of reach of grasping hands, Hands that would bend, twist, pervert and invert. Truth flees from all of this and more, Arriving breathless, With the hope of being known. Julie Serroul
Post a Comment
Read more

Re-Boot

 Hello,  This is a re-boot of my previous blog, Poking Holes in Reality. Hopefully, I'll stick with this a little longer... my last attempt dribbled away into nothingness.  Resuming my hobby of writing has been like hitting Refresh on my happiness page. I had plenty of other things in my life to bring me joy, but not having writing as an outlet made me... incomplete. So, I will attempt not to be too boring to any eyes that may find themselves here as I let you in on all my little projects and scribbles. Finishing my novel was my first goal and I've completed the first draft. I'm still editing it, of course, and will continue to do so as comments from my first group of volunteers/victims read it and provide their feedback. I'll give other updates on that project if they arise. For now, I will say that it is a Dark Fantasy set in a terrible future version of our world. Meanwhile. I'm also scratching out some poetry and working on a short story which is a continuation ...
2 comments
Read more