R J Askew ~ One Swift Summer

[Patti (baconater)]

I think he's been at Phil's laughing gas. :)

[R.J.]

Poets are capable of anything *bows*

p.s. I've written THE MILLION DOLLAR POEM. The aim is to find a very, very, very rich man and sneak a hand into his swiss bank account -- for charity. The rich man gets the original for his green and more pure kudos than even his efo cld ever dream of. Only a very, very mad poet can make this happen. Syllables crossed.

[Gingerlily - The Full Wild]

I don't think it would take much...

[R.J.]

This is it, the million dollar poem, I will take some pics of the original, handwritten with a Montblanc understoody in blue-black ink, at some point. The poem was inspirced by Vic's Big Walk: From SW France to NW England which I found on this site. Vic walked 2000 km for a charity to fight a particularly virulent cancer. So I will try and see if I can do a bit, too. The original of this poem is hereby officially priced at $1 mln. You've got to laugh. But... Let's see.

A GIVING ART

Each one who gives will goodness win
For all who give and give a gain
Create again this universe
This art alive in which we are
A vein of love alive in this
Eternity of love surrounds
A love within a love without
Each breath, each beat, each mote of life
A gain! a gain! in beauty's vein
We pulse in goodness given free
To give a gain to fully be
We give again a gain to win

This art is at the heart of life
We love .. to give new hope a way

Vic's Big Walk: From SW France to NW England

[R.J.]

Patti (Free Bird) wrote: "I think he's been at Phil's laughing gas. :)"

Tis good stuff this goodreads gas. Inhales deeply.

[R.J.]

Parking this here while I think where to out it. 'Hedge Fund Manager' maybe, or some similar organ.


THE CATAYLST

I know you're there, how could I not?
You are my brother in this quest
Our lives are destined to converge
To win a greater gold our aim
To join in one great enterprise
To win repute beyond dispute
We join to show the world our worth
Each made the more in all we are
By this! our giving art combined
Alive the more in all we do
Your patronage the catalyst
I seek to win and win again
To gild your name my golden aim
To praise your worth .. with beating art

[R.J.]

54 sales in 9 months. The last purchase by a kind-hearted soul taking pity on a limping author. Perhaps the story is a dud. Though I don't think so. Perahps I am unlucky, or lazy, or clueless, or a combination thereof. It wld be nice to get to 100 before facing reality, though of course getting to that far-distant number wld suffuse your struggling author here with renewed optimism. O for a sale! Sweet delusions are made of this. Who am I to disagree? O for a sale, a sale!

[Kath]

It most certainly is worthy Ron. I really enjoyed this book. There are so many ebooks now though and it's so hard to get noticed. I have read some stunning stuff from indie authors and I get so frustrated that I can't belt the world around its ears and shout 'Read this, it's brilliant!'
The world would have very sore ears!

[Gingerlily - The Full Wild]

http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/fbe...

[R.J.]

Ignite wrote: "It most certainly is worthy Ron. I really enjoyed this book. There are so many ebooks now though and it's so hard to get noticed. I have read some stunning stuff from indie authors and I get so ..."

Hmmm, is that sale 55 I sense just over the horizon. On we go! Thanks Kath. Will keep at it.

[D.D. Chant]

I had about the same number of sales after my first 9 months R.J., it really does get better I promise, slowly perhaps but surely!!! :-)

[Marc]

I would kill for 54... but then I'd be offing my own potential readers which makes no economic sense. Writing without interruptions from prison has its appeal mind...

[R.J.]

D.D. wrote: "I had about the same number of sales after my first 9 months R.J., it really does get better I promise, slowly perhaps but surely!!! :-)"

Cheers D.D. you are a model of encouragement and sound advice based on your own experience, hard work and entusiasm.

[R.J.]

Marc wrote: "I would kill for 54... but then I'd be offing my own potential readers which makes no economic sense. Writing without interruptions from prison has its appeal mind..."

Theres a flash fiction in this Marc. Two writers end up in the same cell for transgressing in their mad quest for recognition. Do they co-operate out of a shared sense of defeat, or do they tear each other's eyes out in one final bid to be the one and make Page 3 of the London Review of Books?!

[R.J.]

1 minute warm up. 2/3/7/3/2 syllabs. five strong verbs

MEDITATION

Be still
Join with all
Feel new goodness flow throughout
Give anew
Be true

[D.D. Chant]

R.J. wrote: "D.D. wrote: "I had about the same number of sales after my first 9 months R.J., it really does get better I promise, slowly perhaps but surely!!! :-)"

Cheers D.D. you are a model of encouragement ..."

Aww shucks!

*Blush*

[R.J.]

the benefits of sweat inducing exercise are much lauded .. who am I to disagree?

phwoarrrrrrrrrrrr ..



.
SWEAT INDUCING
.
Exercise such as this delights
Burns calories on winter nights
When lust's blow torch wild love ignites
And each the other's shoulder bites
Both winning in this best of fights
Of bodies surging on love's heights
O how you sway! my favourite sights
So come let's play, this love incites
My lust for you in you alights
Take me with you in your love flights
.
O how I glow and run with sweat
Inducing you to flow so wet
My lust for love so hotly met
In you love makes you come to get
.
.
.

[R.J.]

ahem, moving swiftly back to metaphysical aesceticism .. will record this one anon




THE BREATHTAKER

Behold my beauty in this light
I am in every human eye
In sight I am a sense of gift
This voice of light in your high mind
I am invisible you see
And yet a truth perceived to be
In here, my spectrum is alive
In you, I am ... astonishing
Your inner light a-breathing hear
I am, o how I am in you!
Breath taking in my lust to be
For you, my universe, to see
And sense my beauty in this light
Alive! in you ... instinctivly

[Marc]

R.J. wrote: "What?"

I think it's just the wind...

[Patti (baconater)]

I love this thread so much. :D

[R.J.]

Hurrah, Son 1 has done well in his A-levels -- and I've got a sweet idea for a new story. Maybe 70,000 words. One problem: I vowed not to write another story until Watching Swifts was fully airborne.

[Vic]

R.J. wrote: "Hurrah, Son 1 has done well in his A-levels -- and I've got a sweet idea for a new story. Maybe 70,000 words. One problem: I vowed not to write another story until Watching Swifts was fully airborne."

Ron, it is airborne. I read it and loved it. What more do you want? :-)

[Andrew]

But how do you define airborne? I'm frustrated at my 62 sales, but I remember before the fateful day of upload thinking I would be very lucky to reach double figures, with 15 copies as a target to shoot for...

Getting every one of my ten stories out was a real wrench, but by purging them from my forebrain and on to Amazon, I'm dashing through new material like never before.

Long story short - new story! New story! Your readership is baying for your words!

[R.J.]

Hi Andrew,

I share your feelings, entirely. Certain numbers have proved sticking points, but then are passed and we start obsessing about some other number.

Right now sale No.55 is like a evil-tempered enemy bunker stuffed with machine guns that have me pinned down. But it will fall.

Getting to 100 is my aim for now and I know I will reach it now -- as will you with yours.

But for a story to be airborne I reckon it wld have to get to 1,000.

If mine gets to that magical number I will buy you a pint of Directors in the Lamb and Flag in Cov Gdn! Now that is a promise.

Sweet dreams are made of this .. who am I to disagree?

Ron

p.s. when I get stuck I try to visualise the next potential buyer and beam powerful urges in their direction along the lines of 'add to trolly. add to trolly add Watching Swifts to YOUR! trolly. Do it now, sooooo DO IT NOW!' I swear it has worked at least once!

[Kath]

Ron - stop messing about and toying with my emotions - write another! It's a fact that the more books an author has, the more the snowball enlarges and rolls.

PS congratulations to Son!

[Marc]

R.J. wrote: "Hi Andrew,

I share your feelings, entirely. Certain numbers have proved sticking points, but then are passed and we start obsessing about some other number.

Right now 55 is like an enemy bunker s..."

I set my airborne target at 2000. Still grounded I'm afraid, even if you add all 4 book titles together

[Andrew]

Cov Garden it is - let's hope that day comes very soon indeed! My current aim is to get to 69. My juvenile streak wouldn't mind so much being stuck on a given number of sales, if it was at least a number conducive to innuendo.

[Kath]

Fnar, fnar!

[Vic]

Ron, when that Million Dollar Poem gets going, with all the attendant publicity, one of the byproducts will be big sales for Watching Swifts - and we shall all be heading for Covent Garden.

[Marc]

I'd avoid Covent Garden like the plague if I were you. Full of tourists with ripped jeans and bad skin. The Fitzroy Tavern near Goodge Street has more of a literary tradition worthy of this discussion...

[R.J.]

Andrew wrote: "Cov Garden it is - let's hope that day comes very soon indeed! My current aim is to get to 69. My juvenile streak wouldn't mind so much being stuck on a given number of sales, if it was at least a ..."

Well let me know when you get to 68 as I know a certain lady called Ruby who wld smirk with glee to make your dream come true.

[R.J.]

Marc wrote: "I'd avoid Covent Garden like the plague if I were you. Full of tourists with ripped jeans and bad skin. The Fitzroy Tavern near Goodge Street has more of a literary tradition worthy of this discuss..."

I know the Fitzroy. Great pub. here'a dab on the good ol' Lamb and Flag ...

The Lamb and Flag was once insalubriously known as the Bucket of Blood because of the bare-fist prize fights that used to be staged in the outside courtyard. In Rose Alley, at the side of the pub, a noticeboard proclaims that the immortal Charles Dickens and his friends were often at the Lamb and Flag, as was Samuel Butler and “the wits and gallants of the restoration”.

In 1679, the poet John Dryden was attacked by hired thugs in Rose Alley and was nearly killed. As suggested by the noticeboard, it was Louise de Kéroualle, mistress of Charles II, who ordered the mugging, but it could well have been any of the people that Drysden had offended through his writing – and he was known to have offended a few.

[R.J.]

The Dickens must have been in 10,000 pubs in his short life! Lor' knows when he ever found any time to write a word.

[R.J.]

One London pub I will never ever go back to is THE OLD BELL on Fleet Street. Never, ever, never, not ever.

[Marc]

I'm with Dryden, a thing isn't worth writing if it's not going to stir up some passions, not all of them necessarily positive

[R.J.]

Marc wrote: "I'm with Dryden, a thing isn't worth writing if it's not going to stir up some passions, not all of them necessarily positive"

Yep, we have to live dangerously to get noticed , though one does not necessarily want to live quite like Kit Marlowe who copped a rapier through the eye in a Deptford boozer.

But how about Big Bad Ben Jonson >>>>>

The fiery young poet proved to be a formidable soldier. In one incident, he fought a Spaniard in a sword fight, killed him, and then stripped the corpse of its armor.

[Marc]

Yeah I don't think Marlow's beef was over literature though?

[R.J.]

Marc wrote: "Yeah I don't think Marlow's beef was over literature though?"

Ach, he was a love poet and every breath of a love poet's life is literature in its purest form.

[Marc]

R.J. wrote: "Marc wrote: "Yeah I don't think Marlow's beef was over literature though?"

Ach, he was a love poet and every breath of a love poet's life is literature in its purest form."

fair point :-)

[Andrew]

I'm a big fan of the Fitzroy Tavern, particularly on the first Thursday of the month, when diverse chums of excellent taste tend to gather. As my day job has become slightly more demanding, I'm particularly fond of their Alpine Lager at 2.8%, enabling me to drink copiously and still wake up at 6:30am without a care in the world...

[R.J.]

Andrew wrote: "I'm a big fan of the Fitzroy Tavern, particularly on the first Thursday of the month, when diverse chums of excellent taste tend to gather. As my day job has become slightly more demanding, I'm par..."

Hi Andrew, this may amuse you as I know you take the actually penmanship of all this seriously. I sometimes take pics of writing, such is my own obsessivness about the pen-ink-paper nexus. I'm working up a poem artwork right now. It will take about another 50 goes before I get it right, but here is Opus 1 if you are interested. (And not a single beer stain on it!) The ink is too weak, and the pen nib too fine on this version. But that can be fixed. >>>

http://www.goodreads.com/photo/author...

[Andrew]

That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!

[R.J.]

Andrew wrote: "That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!"

Sneaked in a quiet couple of pints of Adnams down at the THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, Narrow Street, with the Thames slapping up around my feet everytime a tourist boat went by. There is a deck over the river and the tide was high n choppy. Ahh, the pleasures of working on a Saturday!

[R.J.]

ADD FOR THREADS ON OTHER SITES ..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As opposite 50 SHADES OF GREY as is possibe . . .

Watching Swifts is a novella -- so you can read it in one medium plane jounrney.

Poetic in its language. Hear some: http://soundcloud.com/r-j-askew

Set in London's Kew Gardens one swift summer.

If you like the reviews grab it!

Watching Swifts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Andrew]

R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!"

Sneaked in a quiet couple of pints of Adnams down at the THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, Narrow Street, with the Thames slapping up around my feet every..."

I've had a weekend away from the pen down on the Solent in Hamble. Itching to get back to work this evening... probably in the Red Lion in Barnes!

[Marc]

I see a 'writing in pubs' theme developing here. Me, I'm, teetotal. I don't have a divan, but like Dame barbara Cartland, I am sat perched horizontally on my bed typing away. Mine however are works of literature...

[R.J.]

Andrew wrote: "R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!"

Sneaked in a quiet couple of pints of Adnams down at the THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, Narrow Street, with the Thames slapping up around ..."

How wld things go if -- let's say -- you had found the ideal place, a round table somewhere in an alcove with a perfect view of the pub, rever, everything. You had had about three or four sips of say London Pride and you were feeling just right at last about a story you had been incubating for a couple of weeks. You start writing. Things go well. Another couple of sips. This must not be rushed after all. Certain things -- writing included -- are to be savoured. It is not a race. And then you become aware of her watching you. You had not noticed her when you got comfy, but now you do. She is sat on her own with her iPod on and, yess, appears to be writing a postcard... Or is she? She looks at you, directly at you. Your bubble of sublime public isolation is instantly punctured. She smiles. You almost knock your pint over. You try to focus, concentrate. The story is a good one. You do not need this interruption. You will have the story. You inhale deeply, take a decent mouthful of beer, blink a couple of times to zone things out .. start writing again. You nail two more graphs. You are mainlining into metaphwoarrr heaven. And then she's there, standing by your table. 'Hi, what are you writing?' she asks. 'Are you a the writer in residence? I've read about you...' She has green eyes that will not be ignored. You reach for your drink, but, to your amazement, her hand darts out and moves it to one side, smiling all the while.

[Marc]

she is a story all the same, just a different narrative from the one being composed on your notepad.

[R.J.]

R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!"

Sneaked in a quiet couple of pints of Adnams down at the THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, Narrow Street, with the Thames slap..."

She sighs.

[R.J.]

R.J. wrote: "R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "R.J. wrote: "Andrew wrote: "That's a magnificent start! Fantastic!"

Sneaked in a quiet couple of pints of Adnams down at the THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, Narrow Street, with th..."

You have to ask her, 'Are you the story I have been looking for all my life?' She nods. 'Am I to write you?' She nods, 'Yes, yes, of course I am you silly, silly man.' You gaze at your pint with exttrme suspicion and look around to see if anyone is witnessing your mental dislocation. But no one is. No oen is paying the slightest attention. 'So how, erm, does this work?' you ask. 'Do you have a name?' She sits beside you and kisses you on the cheek. 'I am the
Story Of Your Life. You are to take me home, love me, write me. I am yours, all yours.' You shiver. Your pulse... Oh your pulse, your pulse, your pulse! 'But you feel like a, erm, very real ... woman. A very beautiful woman.' She kisses you again, on the neck this time. 'Yes, I am, aren't I?' That is because you, sir, are the luckiest of writers.' You find yourself beginning to agree with her. 'Do you like my perfume?' You inhale deeply. 'Like? Like is not a word I love. I love your perfume.' She smiles to herself. 'I knew you would. It's why I wore it, to please you.' You notice your pint is miraculously full again, flowing over in fact. You blink, astonished. She smiles the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. 'Drink, it won't hurt you.' She kisses you on the side of your neck and whispers, 'When you take me home with you, I am going to take a shower, and then...' She exhales a slow stream of perfumed passion into your ear. Your soul tembles. 'It works like this,' she says. 'You writers think you create us, your stories. But you don't. You heap words up in meaningless ways and wonder when you get nowhere and why others... If you are lucky, very, very, very lucky, one of us will come to you. Much as I have come to you now.' You take a mouthful of beer and blink as a strange new adrenaline surges through you. She smiles. 'Taste it?' You nod. 'Success, the taste of success. Yours. Because you have been chosen to ... as my conduit into your shallow reality, all 287,000 words of me.' You slop beer over the table. 'But, I've ...' She takes your hand. 'Come, we have much to do, you and I. There's no going back now, not for you, for you are mine now, all mine, and I, The Story Of Your Life, am yours.'

And with that the writer in residence left The Red Lion in Barnes with a beautiful story on his arm. And all the eyes of all the men in the pub followed the swing of her hips and the macaial cut of her magical jeans. And all the eyes of all the women in the pub stared and sighed and wanted to be her, not like her, but to BE her. And you, my children, you will find her on your book shelves electonic in a few short months and you will KNOW that every word of this is true, because, my children, you were HERE NOW and you KNOW.