Kern Carter's Blog, page 77
November 15, 2021
Call For Submissions — What Phase Of Life Are You In?
When I turned 31, it was like someone reached into my brain and removed a blocker. That’s how much more clearly I could see things. I felt enlightened, like I had entered a different stage of my understanding, a different stage of my life.
I don’t think it’s an accident I put out my first book that year, became a full-time writer, and started defining myself as the person I am today. I think we all go through phases in life, phases we can point to and define.
Our question to you is what phase of life are you in right now? Or what was your favourite phase of life?
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.”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.
[image error]Call For Submissions — What Phase Of Life Are You In? was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
November 14, 2021
November 13, 2021
Why Do I Write?
Pain is the mother of all creations
Photo by National Cancer Institute on UnsplashToday I am in severe pain, still I want to write something, but don’t know exactly what. Maybe just some random thoughts. The aftereffects of chemo have been killing me for the last fifteen days, because of which I had to skip my upcoming chemo session. I have nothing in mind but pain, frustration, hopelessness, and helplessness. This is where I am placed in life and so many vague thoughts are storming my mind. I want to pen them all down. Why? I don’t know! Sometimes I seriously wonder why I write at all? Why at all should I serve my shit to others?
When I ponder over this, what I find is that I don’t write for anybody else. I write only for myself. Maybe it’s my ranting and venting. Who views it, reads it, claps it, likes or dislikes it, is of no concern to me. Usually, people like or dislike things according to their placement in life. Everybody has a life mix of sadness and happiness, but understandably happy persons, with no major trauma going on in life, don’t like to read about pain and frustration.
Similarly, persons with a tragic life may not like to read about happy things. See, here perspectives matter. My whole idea of writing is to find those who are on the same page with me in the book of life. The whole cry is all about finding someone who, after reading my stuff, reads my mind and says, “Hey bro, don’t worry, I am there with you, in exactly your situation, I understand your emotions and pain! Just don’t worry, you are not alone. Have courage, we can gather our shits together!”
That’s it! It is like trying to find a pearl in the ocean. It’s not at all about views, reads, claps, money and whatnot. I don’t think this whole idea of follow-for-follow is absolute crap, but we must let the following build slowly, steadily, and with a mature love for art and understanding. This only can serve the real purpose of this excellent platform.
Life is like traffic. Somebody is always ahead of you, and you are always ahead of someone. In other words, it’s not a race to win or lose, you are just positioned at a place in life. Someone will always be behind you, and you will always be behind someone. There is no comparison! There should not be any! Pain, tears and suffering of a person with no shoes is equally intense as of a person with no legs. A person with BP and diabetes is equally concerned about their health as a person like me suffering from cancer. To really understand somebody’s pain, we have to be in their shoes.
Just a few days back, my thoughts were different, but now I have realized that. Every pain is a pain, every concern is a concern. Nothing less, nothing more. Only our perspective should be larger and more humane. So, the statements like “I/we understand,” become very superficial. No, we have to feel that pain to truly understand that.
There is a famous stanza of a very renowned Indian poet Sumitranandan Pant:
“वियोगी होगा पहला कवि,
आह से उपजा होगा गान,
निकल कर आँखों से चुपचाप
बही होगी कोई कविता अनजान।”
A rough translation of it goes like this:
“separated and sad
must have been the first poet,
born out of his sighs,
quietly from the eyes
must have flown an unknown poem.”
Pain is the mother of all creations. Probably, this is the reason whenever I am in pain, I want to write poetry or at least something, not for others, just for myself!
I fear no more
To confess loneliness,
Cancer killed all my happiness;
I feel weak, frustrated,
Wasted and useless
’Cause it made me
Invalid and worthless;
But death I fear no more
Since it brings the ultimate
Truth of nothingness.
I tread my path
With no grudges,
My term with life
Is to burn no bridges,
I had a dream
To a point it converges,
Everyone departs
Whoever merges,
But I fear no more
Of any faults or glitches.
Why Do I Write? was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
November 12, 2021
Accepting Change and Uncertainty is a Prickly Learning Process
After exhaling each moment on life’s learning curve, there is huge value in taking a moment to pause before inhaling the next
Isn’t America The Dreamland?
New Chapter On Love & Literature
Love & Literature is a new storytelling platform created by CRY. We publish short memoirs from writers and storytellers around the world by hosting a single author each month. Their stories are told through weekly chapters that share real-life experiences. This month’s writer is Alessia Petrolito and her story is called “ An Italian Diary .”
In chapter 3 of An Italian Diary, Alessia leaves her homeland of Italy to attend university in her birthplace of America. Specifically, she ends up in Chicago. As excited as Alessia was for the opportunity to be someone else, to form new bonds and connect with her roots, it doesn’t take her long to feel out of place.
“Incastrata. Fake, that land felt not dreamy at all. American History wasn’t hers to own. Lei fought her way out of the black word. She couldn’t walk or talk without people noticing her. Her voice, pronunciation and rolling R. She sounded French, but punctated H(s) and vowels; she was Italian on paper and Piedmontese at heart.
One drop, she had much more of it. She had all the African West Coast. She looked mixed, even exotic to some, her accent, outfit, and all. She had colonial blood; still African American culture wasn’t her own.”
This inner conflict haunts Alessia throughout her years in the U.S. She can not reconcile who she is with where she is. It all feels wrong.
“Mad, she was so madly angry. She missed bread, she missed everything; she couldn’t stay on this land. She lost weight, developed symptoms of an eating disorder; she was living with her phone in her hand, she was hyperactive on social and watching all her favorite Italian TV Talk and Talent Shows on streaming. She tried to fill her remoteness, the space that was separating her from her past life. It was one of Lei’s bad habits, always living somewhere else — in the past, in the future, in the U.S. when in Italy and in Italy when in the U.S., never in the present place.”
Alessia realizes she must take action, but what to do? Go back to Italy? Stay in Chicago? America is the dreamland, right?
Read the full chapter, “Isn’t America The Dreamland” on Love & Literature.
Subscribe to Love & Literature to read stories from writers around the world. We release a new chapter every Sunday.
[image error]Isn’t America The Dreamland? was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
