Kern Carter's Blog, page 78
November 12, 2021
Christy Marie
Photo Credit: Michigan Beach TownsShe is a beautifully colored piece of broken beach glass
Made smooth by the work of her own hands
A cruel world only sees her tarnished by the weather and waves of time
They miss what I see; the beauty of how she’s put herself together
The powerful soul inside her made her whole again
She glistens brightly in the warm sunlight among the regular stones on the beach
For all the world to observe in awe of her grand beauty
Chris Patton is a writer focusing on helping readers feel the experience of PTSD flashbacks and other symptoms, rather than just reading about them.
[image error]Christy Marie was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
November 11, 2021
Editor Picks — Favourite Posts On CRY
Image by Erica Guilane NachezHere we go again, choosing favourites like a grandparent. But it’s fun and in true grandparent fashion, we are unapologetic about our favourites. Let’s get into it.
KernMy favourite post on CRY right now is Ballad For The Sweet Boys by Henry Corrigan. I’m usually much more drawn to prose, but when Henry started off his piece “I am a violent man,” I knew immediately I was in for something special. This piece is about masculinity, toxic masculinity, growth and redemption; brutal and beautiful poetry with storytelling that’s on another level.
Favourite excerpt:
My uncle
Once at dinner
Stole food off of my plate
He didn’t stop
’Til I put my knife
Through the middle of his steak
I cut off a pieceSafia
And ate it
Looking him in the eye
My uncle shook his head
And said
At least now you don’t cry
This week, I’m also going to pick a poem for my favourite piece. Turns Out I’m an Asshole by Sylvia Wilde starts off with such raw honesty that you have to keep reading. Sylvia does an incredible job of capturing both the light and darker sides of our inner monologue. Toggling back and forth between humility and selfishness, joy and anger, Sylvia questions which of these feelings are most true to her core being. The poem also reflects on the sense of loneliness that is felt during these moments.
My favourite excerpt:
It’s a “fuck-you”[image error]
kind of day —
the type where
peace and joy
are absent
and the person
I want to be
seems distant
Editor Picks — Favourite Posts On CRY was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
A Writer Feels Alone And Lonely? Boo Hoo, Bah Humbug
The writer who can’t be alone in his mind long enough to write without feeling bad about it needs to find another profession
The Four Seasons of Writing
Whenever I think of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, “Spring” immediately comes to mind. I don’t even know if it’s because my mind has selected that piece as the default reference or if society has drilled those opening sounds into my brain through movies, TV shows and advertisements. The triumphant and lively opening of this masterpiece had always put a smile on my face until I started watching horror movies where the “villain” ends up being a sadistic individual who musicalizes the crimes with classical compositions.
Photo by Chris Lawton on UnsplashDespite the different shapes that Vivaldi’s production can take depending on the context, I have always chosen Winter II: Largo, the shortest and, probably, the least known movement of the concert. The rhythmic sound that emulates the fall of raindrops reminds me of the ticking of a clock, filling me with nostalgia, while the uprising melody perfectly depicts the comforting dance of the fire in a cosy living room more than 200 years ago.
“Despite the locked and bolted doors… / this is winter, which nonetheless / brings its own delights”, wrote Vivaldi in the sonnet that refers to this particular season. And that’s exactly what I like to remember when I’m going through an inspiration drought, a creative winter. During those times when I cannot find words or ideas, I like to remind myself that there is a warm, intimate and lively fire within me.
As a way to connect with that inner flame, I normally go out for a walk. I avoid listening to music in order to become more actively aware of what happens on my way to the park. If there’s a couple in front of me speaking, I try, not to listen to their words, but to listen to their accent, to notice if both of them are interested in the conversation or not. If birds are chirping, I will try to find them, so, visually, I can put a face to the sound. I try to perceive the background sounds that many times are overshadowed by horns, sirens and airplanes flying. The reason why this works for me is because it relaxes me and provides my thoughts with a safe place to pop up and thrive.
Once I’m in the park, I’ll listen to music (or not) and sit down dictating my thoughts to my phone. Random ideas, not necessarily connected, but honest in spirit. After I’ve poured all my thoughts into my tiny smart gadget, I go back home and prepare to write. Vivaldi’s “Spring” or “Summer” will play in the back of my mind while I go through my notes and take the most interesting, fertile one and start writing.
Many times I’ve heard writers say that there’s no better thing to do for writing than writing. This means that, even if we’re not feeling inspired, it’s important to keep trying, creating and working on ideas. The way in which inspiration arrives is, usually, not through a romantic, surprising and almost epiphanic revelation, but through diligent, honest and resilient work.
I wish that I had a particular piece of advice to share with you, but I guess the best thing that we both can have is the sense of accompanying each other in these mental blocks that we find along the way. In the end, every season has its own pleasures and lessons, so let’s enjoy the ride together.
Remember that “The Four Seasons” wouldn’t be the masterpiece it is without Autumn or Winter.
[image error]The Four Seasons of Writing was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
November 10, 2021
‘Lonely Writer:’ Isn’t That An Oxymoron? No, No It’s Not.
It’s actually a pleonasm, which is when you are redundant in speech, and as you see, I find it quite cheeky to have fun at writers’…
To Be Alone
Being a voice for the voiceless can sometimes be the loneliest journey
https://unsplash.com/@ingagezalianIt starts with a dance. A dance in your room alone. Windows open, the same words on repeat, the same melody on replay. When the world can’t see you there is no risk in leaving your glass pane open, your curtains undrawn and your body vulnerable. As a writer you are not seen — you are heard.
You do a puzzle, another solitary activity; you read a few chapters of a book, you write a few chapters of your book and then you look in the mirror and you wonder how if you can see your nose, your eyes, your hair, and your teeth then why can’t anybody else?
Of course, you make the most noise: your prose makes people think, your articles make people debate and your poetry has stopped a heart or two but do they really see you as anything else but a faceless typewriter. An adapter, translating pain they themselves don’t know how to express into plain English words.
You’ve tried making friends. But they don’t really see it. They don’t see the injustices that have you up typing furiously at 2 a.m., they don’t see the vision of the feminist retelling of Cleopatra’s story, they do not want or relate to a job where the main qualification is an ability and an often unwanted need to be alone.
[image error]To Be Alone was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
