Kern Carter's Blog, page 103
September 20, 2021
Call For Submissions—Write A Letter To Yourself
One of the most challenging parts of being a writer or creator is keeping yourself motivated. It’s hard getting five reads on a piece you spent hours on or getting rejected by another publication. Even with all the uplifting comments from your writing peers, that type of rejection still feels like failure.
In my years and years of writing, one constant has held true: I need to be accountable for my own motivation. It helps to have others in my corner, but if I didn’t hold myself accountable for my own emotions on this journey, I would’ve quit a long time ago.
Part of being self-motivated is reminding myself why I’m doing this. Why writing matters so much to me. So for this writing prompt, I want you to write a letter to yourself. Inspire yourself through your own words. Or maybe your letter isn’t inspiring at all and is a reality check. It’s possible this creative life isn’t for you. If so, write your doubts in this letter.
Same rules still apply:You can submit to this or ANY of our past writing prompts. Just scroll through our previous newsletters. They’ll be marked “Call for Submissions.”If you’re already a writer for CRY, go ahead and submit.If you’re not a writer for CRY but would like to submit to this or any other prompt, let us know and we’ll add you ASAP. Include your profile handle in your message or comment.Be as creative as you want in your submissions. As long as you stick to the topic, we’ll consider it.Just because you submit doesn’t mean we’ll post. If you haven’t heard back from us in three days, consider that a pass.Please reach out if you have any questions at all. If you are new to Medium, here’s how you submit a draft to a publication.
Call For Submissions—Write A Letter To Yourself was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Sweet Embrace
When you are away, I miss you.It is more than my mind can comprehend.A part of me goes missing when you are absent.
September 19, 2021
I Wouldn’t Go Into a Regret Jail
A villanelle poem about choosing myself despite the rejection emails
Healing Through Rest
Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash, Edited by AuthorThe best way to do anything, from what I’ve found, is to do what feels true to you. When it comes to healing my approach is to have dedicated time set aside every week (or day when I’m really going through it) to just let go, chill out, and ease up on the reigns that often hold on a little too tightly. This is my practice to be less hard on myself, not something that comes easily.
Every Sunday I put on my comfiest clothes, make a favorite food, don’t engage with the news, and slide into a hot bath. The warmth of the water doing its best to wash over all the stressors of the week. My eyes closed to screens, unstrained by the seductive glow of the virtual world and my place in it. I give myself a break from exercise and allow my body to rest. Mix in cozying up to a roaring fire and I’ll happily be putty in the day’s hands.
Rest, what a revolutionary concept. We talk about it a lot, but I fear we do not follow it up with enough action. Productivity has poisoned our relationship to relaxation. Go, go, go. The common refrain of all the feet pattering on the pavement to get to a place they’re already late to because of the last thing they were doing. It’s only been recently we’ve begun to have conversations around burnout and that maybe, running ourselves into the ground continually isn’t that good for us after all.
However, rest is also a luxury and too often a privilege for people. This is the thought I carry with me into my Sundays, not exactly the most calming thought, but one that allows me to cherish my rest more and attempt some gratitude. That’s the kind of healing that helps the mind just as much as the body, and so I sink deeper into my bathtub.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash, Edited by AuthorI try to take this mentality with me everywhere and for everything I do. If I am struggling, I will let myself stop and recollect. The ability to pause keeps us from quitting altogether, and with a mind that likes to defeat more than encourage, anything that helps me stay on the path is worth sticking with. So, now I acknowledge when it’s too much, and permit myself to live in that until it’s processed, and then I can be on my way. That is healing too.
All this said I am not perfect at it. Is anyone? Making space for healing, for unwinding, for truly unclenching that jaw takes effort. Counterintuitive as it may be, it’s what my experience has been with it. The urge to check in with my news feed, or the pressure to always be writing, or even just to harp on myself for not moving enough seeps in and wrangles to take control over that healing ritual. I can’t always let my brain lie down in the way I can with my body, and so like so much of life, it’s a work in progress.
Protecting that space of healing is important for my wellbeing and walking around as a more balanced person. Everything in moderation, as the saying goes, and that applies here. We can only hope to meet the day if we first let ourselves stay in bed that morning maybe just a little bit longer. Let the cloud of doing lift, and in its place let the clarity of simply being remain. That is just as good, that is enough sometimes, and we deserve to walk through this world lightly when we get the chance. Mostly, I have to make those chances for myself and carve out peace of mind. It will not be given to me, I have to go spelunking for it, and allow myself to revel in it when I manage to get there.
I believe a source of healing for ourselves can be helping others to heal as well. Providing a space where others can feel free to relax, be heard, or even sit in comfortable silence is a real sign of unencumbered humanity. So many of us feel left out in the cold like we have to figure it all out by ourselves, and this lack of community can also be a lack of healing. If ever I can be that for someone, I try to take that opportunity, thus potentially sparking a chain reaction of healing. The alchemy of gentleness, empathy, and kindness.
Sometimes healing is not always so delicate. Setting boundaries, advocating for yourself, prioritizing alone time, and other methods of laying the groundwork to heal can be difficult. The pushback from doing what’s best for you can sometimes rub others the wrong way, especially if they have yet to learn what works for them. The hustle clashes with the slowness which can make this a tougher goal to achieve. I believe healing is a state of being and reaching that state does not always align with the outside world.
Life is full of scraping, fighting, and just surviving that too often we relegate what heals us to the side. It becomes some date on a calendar that never comes. Find what healing is true to you, even if it’s feeling your bare toes wiggle around in the green grass. Whatever it is, once you discover it, nourish it. Sunday or not, for me, I know there’s always a bathtub waiting.
Photo by Emily Powers on Unsplash, Edited by Author
Healing Through Rest was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
You Deserve To Rest
Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash, Edited by AuthorThe best way to do anything, from what I’ve found, is to do what feels true to you. When it comes to healing my approach is to have dedicated time set aside every week (or day when I’m really going through it) to just let go, chill out, and ease up on the reigns that often hold on a little too tightly. This is my practice to be less hard on myself, not something that comes easily.
Every Sunday I put on my comfiest clothes, make a favorite food, don’t engage with the news, and slide into a hot bath. The warmth of the water doing its best to wash over all the stressors of the week. My eyes closed to screens, unstrained by the seductive glow of the virtual world and my place in it. I give myself a break from exercise and allow my body to rest. Mix in cozying up to a roaring fire and I’ll happily be putty in the day’s hands.
Rest, what a revolutionary concept. We talk about it a lot, but I fear we do not follow it up with enough action. Productivity has poisoned our relationship to relaxation. Go, go, go. The common refrain of all the feet pattering on the pavement to get to a place they’re already late to because of the last thing they were doing. It’s only been recently we’ve begun to have conversations around burnout and that maybe, running ourselves into the ground continually isn’t that good for us after all.
However, rest is also a luxury and too often a privilege for people. This is the thought I carry with me into my Sundays, not exactly the most calming thought, but one that allows me to cherish my rest more and attempt some gratitude. That’s the kind of healing that helps the mind just as much as the body, and so I sink deeper into my bathtub.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash, Edited by AuthorI try to take this mentality with me everywhere and for everything I do. If I am struggling, I will let myself stop and recollect. The ability to pause keeps us from quitting altogether, and with a mind that likes to defeat more than encourage, anything that helps me stay on the path is worth sticking with. So, now I acknowledge when it’s too much, and permit myself to live in that until it’s processed, and then I can be on my way. That is healing too.
All this said I am not perfect at it. Is anyone? Making space for healing, for unwinding, for truly unclenching that jaw takes effort. Counterintuitive as it may be, it’s what my experience has been with it. The urge to check in with my news feed, or the pressure to always be writing, or even just to harp on myself for not moving enough seeps in and wrangles to take control over that healing ritual. I can’t always let my brain lie down in the way I can with my body, and so like so much of life, it’s a work in progress.
Protecting that space of healing is important for my wellbeing and walking around as a more balanced person. Everything in moderation, as the saying goes, and that applies here. We can only hope to meet the day if we first let ourselves stay in bed that morning maybe just a little bit longer. Let the cloud of doing lift, and in its place let the clarity of simply being remain. That is just as good, that is enough sometimes, and we deserve to walk through this world lightly when we get the chance. Mostly, I have to make those chances for myself and carve out peace of mind. It will not be given to me, I have to go spelunking for it, and allow myself to revel in it when I manage to get there.
I believe a source of healing for ourselves can be helping others to heal as well. Providing a space where others can feel free to relax, be heard, or even sit in comfortable silence is a real sign of unencumbered humanity. So many of us feel left out in the cold like we have to figure it all out by ourselves, and this lack of community can also be a lack of healing. If ever I can be that for someone, I try to take that opportunity, thus potentially sparking a chain reaction of healing. The alchemy of gentleness, empathy, and kindness.
Sometimes healing is not always so delicate. Setting boundaries, advocating for yourself, prioritizing alone time, and other methods of laying the groundwork to heal can be difficult. The pushback from doing what’s best for you can sometimes rub others the wrong way, especially if they have yet to learn what works for them. The hustle clashes with the slowness which can make this a tougher goal to achieve. I believe healing is a state of being and reaching that state does not always align with the outside world.
Life is full of scraping, fighting, and just surviving that too often we relegate what heals us to the side. It becomes some date on a calendar that never comes. Find what healing is true to you, even if it’s feeling your bare toes wiggle around in the green grass. Whatever it is, once you discover it, nourish it. Sunday or not, for me, I know there’s always a bathtub waiting.
Photo by Emily Powers on Unsplash, Edited by AuthorYou Deserve To Rest was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Alone In A Overpopulated World
Photo by Victor He on Unsplash.I live in an ideal world where my words matter, but every sentence I spit out tastes like nonsense.
The bitter taste of nothingness rests on my tongue when I speak with others as they look at me as if they are struggling to comprehend.
I find myself ending my splurges of chatter of “do you get me?” or “am I making sense to you?”
The response is usually a yes, but deep down I hear “your use of English is poor”.
Why is it that so many people usually give me such blank-faced expressions?
I wish I knew.
I often feel put off by the expressions I receive when talking with others. I find myself continuously checking whether they can hear me as my voice is so soft.
They usually can.
I find myself sinking into smaller spaces because I fear large spaces may swallow me whole.
They won’t. Yet, I still find myself cramming my tongue in the corners of my mouth. Head tilted away from the judgemental eyes.
Silent.
I am much like a balloon waiting to pop.
Alone In A Overpopulated World was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Crisis.
Photo by: WonderlaneOne too many drinks in the morning.
One too many drinks in the evening.
One too many hours late for work.
One missed birthday cascades into more-
Too many.
One too many broken promises.
One too many excuses that descend into lies-
Too many.
To other people, and to the reflection in the mirror.
Several years on a sofa under a roof that belongs to my sole supporter.
Not any number, eleven for clarity.
I keep my eyes closed to a judgmental world.
“Doing bad? He’s just a lazy bum!” a raspy voice condemns one floor above.
A wooden door slowly creaks open with a whine, out of the shadows comes a toddler boy accompanied by a gang of others his age.
“Uncle Louie, no one ever says they want to be a loser when they grow up?”
“Am I a loser? I am a loser?”
A statement, or a question still waiting to be answered.
Nevertheless, a heartfelt blow to my inescapable reality, provoked by a four-year-old.
Crisis. was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Kitty Cat
Photo by Alvan Nee on Unsplash.I met a cat,
he’s really cute.
I talk to him,
but he’s on mute.
I want a hug,
but he is a brute.
I ask him why,
but he’s doesn’t compute.
I love this kitty cat,
he’s really cute.
I give to him,
a new book of words with alludes.
To which his paws clumsily refute,
to warm him up,
is my pursuit.
I bought my kitty,
a new pressed suit.
I want to dress him,
but he disputes.
I ask him why,
he’s irresolute.
I hear my cat,
even when he’s mute.
I hear a tummy grumbling,
I look for a brush to scoot,
So that boo-boo kitty,
Won’t be crude.
I give him berries and fruit,
for his happiness,
Is my loot.
Kitty Cat was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
