The process of writing and acquiring agents.

What do writers do when they receive a response from an agent that reads: Many thanks for giving me the opportunity to read a sample of your work.  I enjoyed reading what you sent, but I am afraid that after much consideration I am going to have to pass on it. The agent gives no reason, no feedback, no opinion. The writer takes these comments in stride and forges on with their work. If you as a writer have a thin skin or don’t like...

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Eyes in the wood.

    Eyes in the Wood.   Someone said to go there. To walk down the tree-lined lane And enter the moss covered passageway Of beech and hazel. Deeper now with thicker moss beneath my feet, I step back into the past, And wonder whose steps I have followed Into the darkening shadows. Silence is everywhere. Moss covered and listening always To my next step back in time, Where night creatures roam about. I step around a...

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An Aran poem.

A smoke in Aran   Background grumbling Brings closer words around me. A slow stream of familiar scent From plug tobacco packed loosely in a pipe.   I turn to see this silent silhouette Swaying slowly at the bar. Aran jersey pulled, blue colored, Under a grease stained jacket.   Another sip of the black stuff. Another puff on the pipe Anchored by well-worn teeth In a salt-cured face.   Nicotine stained fingers press tightly On...

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Eyes in the Wood.

Eyes in the Wood. Someone said to go there. To walk down the tree-lined lane And enter the moss covered passageway Of beech and hazel. Deeper now with thicker moss beneath my feet, I step back into the past, And wonder whose steps I have followed Into the darkening shadows. Silence is everywhere. Moss covered and listening always To my next step back in time, Where night creatures roam about. I step around a lordly beech, A master of this...

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Dublin

DUBLIN Stone statues view strangely the sights below Copper dye melts around the hallowed heads And drips down to form pools of green. They sit upon the ancient stones And watch the urgency far below. Tram tracks now covered deep. The old ways  buried with layers of seasons past. Dublin watches with her dons of old Her Georgian facades hide songs of older times She moves within her cast of sculptures; frozen. Rusty steel arches stands...

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