Poetic prose or prose poetry?

#ShortStoriesAndPoems I don't know where one stops and the other begins. I have always waxed lyrical when writing and  produce something like

He kept his back to the area of the graveyard where Deirdre lay. When he attended other burials he left by the small gate in the wall nearest the bridge, he never visited her. Now he turned to follow his shadow, a guide thrown by the climbing sun, to her. 
 She wasn’t alone any more: her parents were buried beside her. That in itself caused a pang of sadness, a slight tightening in the chest, a queasy feeling down low in the stomach: a memory of a time when he thought that in the end, they would lie side by side. 
It wasn’t anything they talked about, or even planned, but down there in that country town spouses usually ended up that way: twin plots one headstone; beloved wife devoted husband.

I look back at it and consider editing out some of the words, but I can't, because it all seems to fit: the words, the paragraphs and the emotion. I decide to leave it, because I regard it as good poetic prose.

And then I come towards the end of the short story to what I would call the reconciliation scene and I write prose and I examine it, carefully, then decide to change the P.O.V. - to first-party narrator,  stick in a few "Returns" separate out a few paragraphs and it becomes poetry.

And then my father rang.

Deirdre’s back home - She’s dying,

some terrible wasting disease.

Are you coming down to visit her?

He went on breathless, eager to explain.

I knew he had practised this,

said it aloud to himself, listening to words

he already knew: to refine the inflection.

Her sister brings her for a drive, 
that’s where I found her
sitting in the car near the wood.
She’s going blind now too.
What kind of sickness takes your faculties like that? 
She asked for you. I think she wants to make peace:

You better come down
while there’s still time.

I stayed away, even though on still nights -
when the city traffic had dimmed 
and the windfall leaves rustled 
quietly beneath the branches,
when the scent in the air was hedgerow honeysuckle,
I heard her calling. 

Softly, so faint, away in the distance,
on the cheek brushing, wind,

Then that night -in the moonlight under the stars,
I went down into the wood: to its pine heart; 
and garnered from the forest floor
into my hamper box,
small twigs, pine and fir and larch cones,
covering them with palm. 

I  ranged outward, seeking the brown
yellow and green, turning to amber, fallen-sinner-leaves
covering them with creeping ivy.
I scooped up hawthorn haws, yew berries
and green spiky chestnuts, 
womb-open, showing their fruits inside.


So when you read this you can decide- am I writing poetic prose, or am I writing prose poetry, or  neither? Maybe it's all just a figment of my imagination.

I'm concentrating on Ireland and U.K. market for my book!

I'm a month into the publication of my book now and I have made some marketing decisions.

It is selling so that's fine.

I have an Amazon Countdown Deal coming up in June.

I got some good reviews - no bad ones.

The decision is to not bother about people buying short stories and poems from Amazon America etc., but to concentrate on Amazon U.K.

The postage for Ireland and the U.K. is affordable, the delay is minimal and the clients, it would appear, DIG real poetry and short stories. OH! And yea Fairy Tales......

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Knowledge-Seekers-Land-Cudhabeen-what-could-have-been/dp/1497314615

To the Troglodyte who said as a poet I make a good bricklayer – yes you!

On the "Voice of the Author/Publisher Thread" on Amazon KDP– which by the way should be more rigorously moderated for bullying and harassment – a poster said of The Land Of Cudhabeen poem that the “poet makes a good bricklayer – keep up the the day job.”

There was also reference to me being a “Poor Delusional Beastie", another advised me to buy a CreateSpace copy of my own book as a souvenir – as “if you sell one copy of your poems you will be doing well”.

Of course: it goes without saying that these Plonkers had not read the book or Kindle copy at all.

Now lets get to the real readers: and what they said...

Lazarian Wordsmith's book gives a wonderful insight into Ireland's ancient culture. The writer investigates some of the strange stories and legends which make his country so fascinating. The writing is wonderfully poetic; it's also gripping - I read it in one eager gulp. This paperback is a necessary companion to any 'ordinary' guide book to Ireland, and will be a delight to readers with an interest in the country's many mystical qualities."

The Land of Cudhabeen resonated powerfully with me after my recent loss … of a brother..to cancer...

The lyricism of the prose stories makes them poetic and the poems are prosaic. There is very strong emotion in the words, there is laughter, and hope, but mostly there is the sadness of a lost love .

The fairy Tale is written in such a way that you believe the writer, has a some stage, indeed been “Away With The Fairies”.

I can now see the head Troglodyte and his band of Amazon Forum Trolls crouching around a dim fire glow, in the flickering shadows, at the back of a darkish cave; chipping away at their slates...the message -He Wrote Those Himself - while tongue licking their nasal secretion, candle-wax dropping snots, with their now silent tongue and swallowing the mess for their daily nourishment. They look up with their Golum eye-lidless eyes and lick their lips and think – we are precious. Legends in our own minds!

I have 12,411 readers...but read on!

My book is doing OK, but just OK, so shortly I will be participating in an Amazon Countdown Deal.

When I started this I wanted to see if I could publish a book using CreateSpace and the tools they offer to produce a book.

I had "The Wicker Wood" ready to go but was concerned I might mess up that book if I made any mistakes. So I got a collection of stories and poems together and produced "The Knowledge Seekers & The Land Of Cudhabeen".

It was easy using Open Office and converting the document into Word. Then I used Cover Creator and after a few errors – see my blog - It Looks Like a Tombstone! - I got an acceptable cover.

Of course my Drinking Buddy Norman remarked - I like it – but is your name on the cover a bit indistinct...Boy! (He's from Cork.)

Trying to change that small imperfection was a big mistake and I ended up with another disaster of a cover, script terrible, horrible color scheme and The Boss very annoyed with me. LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE was the advice.

Luckily I was able to recover the original.

I proceeded with the project, ordered Proof Copies and handed them out for editing and corrections. People liked them so much that they kept them, after discussing the typos etc., - that I had also spotted.

Then I did the corrections and produced more Proofs, had a look and then pushed the Button for “Publish”.

So it's out there now and it's getting trickle sales.

But I got the news this morning that I have 12,411 readers: the pity is, that it's for my TripAdvisor Reviews!!!!

Be Careful - on the Forums - Out There Folks!

I wrote my #Amazon and #Create Space Biographies and sat back – to wait.

Then what happened? I got attacked: twice.

I can only come to the conclusion and allege that some people make judgements based on a name, a pen name, or a nationality.

Is this because they have strange ideas, or are they just people who take offence with other people, because of imaginary beliefs, or their own personal sadness, or some other reason? I don't know.

Lazarian is an Irish name in honour of Saint Lazarian the patron saint of Carlow in Ireland. It's not a foreign name. It's my third Christian Name.

Wordsmith is in honour of the Celtic tradition of using a second name to indicate a trade or skill or place in the community.

Examples are (I will give the translations in English): Smith – The Black Smith. Guilfoyle – The Servant of Paul. Mc Entaggart – The Son of The Priest ( Not Necessarily a Catholic Priest). Seavers – The Sea farers. And my own surname – The Son of The Hound of The Sea – so ancient a name that our DNA has been identified as among the oldest Irish DNA and it links my Sept – The Dál gCais – back to the Basque Celts of Northern Spain.

I also joked on my Bio. That I could not remember my Grand-kids names : I can of course. Then I thought perhaps some people who will read this genuinely don't know their Grand-kids at all because of family discord. So perhaps I should change that.

Then I said I had an Invisible Dog – big mistake!

Got bitten seriously there. Was even called Dear and Love and things like that in a hostile post.

#Amazon Forums are not for an innocent like me.

I did it for a song.....My Book that is!

On various Indie and eBook publishing forums, people are commenting on publishing their own book and what it will cost, or asking for some advice on how to go about the project.

Using the Createspace option I produced The Knowledge Seekers and The Land Of Cudhabeen – for a song – and I can't even carry a tune.

I did the interior in Open Office, converted it to Word and after designing the cover with Cover Creator: uploaded the text and submitted it.

Firstly, I got a reject, since the Word file did not meet specifications, and was not compatible with my cover, but then, I followed the instructions offered and resubmitted and was successful on the second attempt.

I ordered three proofs by recorded delivery: had the copies within a week, and began to proof online and with the paper copies.

At this stage I figured I needed to edit the text - since I was (This is the fourth time you used this word) noticing some of my structures, the continual use of the same word, and my writing style, that might not be acceptable (use unacceptable) to the reader.

I purchased a years subscription to ProWritingAid and ran the text through this and followed some of the suggestions it made.

One big argument we had was that it thought my sentences were long. I thought that a Saga in the Oral Tradition of the Bardic Story Tellers would be long sentences and we compromised.

I resubmitted again and ordered three more proofs,  by snail mail, and waited a month for delivery.

In the meantime I obtained my EIN, in less that 10 minutes, with no waiting in a queue, by using the time difference between Ireland and the USA, cleverly for my phone call. (They start work very early, but it's in the middle of my day).

The proofs arrived while I was waiting for a safe delay period  - it take a few weeks for the computers to get the message - to set up my Createspace and Amazon/Kindle tax details so that my withholding would be Zero.

I reproofed, inserted the deliberate typo, (anyone who finds it and tells me will be clever) and put the book up for sale.

I built my Createspace and Amazon Author Profile and waited.

My costs on the book were €24.91 – not counting ProWritingAid – I will continue to use this for my next two books AND so far after two weeks  of marketing and sales I am in profit.

NOT BAD FOR A BOG MAN.

I didn't tell "Fibs" on my Amazon/KDP Bio!

On my Amazon/KDP Bio. I said I had an invisible dog, and people did not believe me.

But I have and even wrote about him or her..or maybe it, in my Epic Historical Novel...”Pal and the Compost Heap Wars”. Never to be published due to a Worm in the Works. 

He could take Dog for a walk, if he had one. Probably sensing his mood Cat had cleared off. Chicken and Duck were asleep. But even if they weren't it was no use: his neighbour on the farm would probably charge him for hiring them to go walking.

He sighed, long and noisily. It always worked before she would ask “What's up with you now?” At least it was talk. This time the silence was well: it was silent.

Then he jumped up suddenly. He had just remembered. Ah yes, yes. But where was it? He pulled open the first closet and whistled. “Where are you Boy?” No ! He didn't whistle it: he said it! Another closet another blank. The garden shed? He rushed out towards the garden and flattened his nose, once again, the Patio Door was closed.

Then he remembered. “Under the bed. In the spare room. I hope it's not dead.”

He galloped up the stairs shouting “It's me Boy. Where are you?”

In the dust and fluff under the bed he saw the lead and the collar at the end. Gently he pulled it out. He thought. Oh don't be dead. I know we haven't been feeding you or bringing you for walks. But please don't be dead.

Gently he lifted the stiff lead and the collar on the end staggered up and waved unsteadily above the floor.

“Oh, Boy It's me.” And holding the lead in his left hand: he crouched down and patted Invisible Dog on the head.

“Let's go for a walk Boy. I'll tell you all the latest gossip.”

He was in the garden waiting for Boy to stop relieving himself against the tree. It was going to be a long wait. Boy had been under the bed for a year and a half. Another trinket form the Joke Shop of his past. The Invisible Dog, in his collar on a wired-stiff lead.

“Hurry up Boy. I'm starting to feel pressure myself.”