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New Post: About Creative Writing, Beta Readers, and Bloodied Soil



Dearest of Friends,

It's been a while, I know.

I've had too many excuses to justify the lack of time that's kept me from blogging. The truth is I've been writing and editing - a lot. For the past few months I've dedicated the moments I steal from full time mothering to research editing, not editing for writers but editing for editors and to be honest, I've learned more about creative writing while doing this than I've learnt during years of researching "how to write".

Motivation

I've been struggling to find motivation for this blog. Ideally I would've liked it to be for readers and writers but I haven't published anything to read, which means I'm not an author with any professional advice to give about the craft. But I've been researching creative writing (including poetry) for nearly two decades. I should feel confident about giving advice about the subject, and be less ashamed of the work I've created over the years. I love writing, I've always loved it and I should show it more. And I will.

Cry, The Beloved Country

There's been so much on my mind of late. My headspace's been crowded by many things unrelated to writing. This isn't a platform for politics but when politics interfere with art it should be mentioned.

I haven't written a word all day because I've been preocuppied with tracking the local protest action in my area. Unsuccessful illegal land grabs have forced a small percentage of disgruntled citizens to rally together. This resulted in shops looted, destruction of property, streets in tatters (tar been hacked to shreds and trees chopped down as barriacdes), blocked roads, and marches by violent protestors in three seperate areas in our little Helderberg basin; Gordon's Bay, Strand and Somerset West. Plumes of black smoke were visible from my window as I watched rubber tires burning down the road. Our supermarkets were closed to protect theselves from looting and to protect workers who were intimitated, even threatened.

The situation is quite ironic really. When I moved here in 2000 I was so inspired by my new surroundings. My creativity soared. Today everything around me has changed. I feel unsafe and uninspired.

If you dig deep enough into the soil under our feet you'll find intermittend layers of blood as you go. There's always been bloodshed over land here, as if the land in itself can really truly belong to anyone. The human species have walked the earth for 2.5 million years. The land belongs to no one and to everyone, a contradiction of sorts. But here in the heel of Africa generation after generation will forever be tormented by ghosts of past generations, compelled to claim land as if it is their birthright to do so, and will bleed for it, again and again.

I crave inspiration. I find it sometimes, in the breeze that cradles the essence of the ocean through my open window, or in the mist that bathes the mountain in the early morning. Today these things were absent. Instead I saw our beautiful home blanketed under layers of black smoke, and the air infected with chants of entitled hooligans. Today was day two of the protests. Here's hoping for a peaceful Friday.

Beta Readers

Soon I will be calling for beta readers. Not now, but later. You'll be the first to know. So, what is a beta reader?

A beta reader is usually an unpaid test reader of an unreleased work of literature or other writing (similar to betatesting in software), who gives feedback from the point of view of an average reader to the author.

You have some time to think about whether this is your cup of tea, or not.

Grattitude

And then last but not least, a shoutout to the person who's been waiting for and update on my FB page. I see you checking in often (well, kind of... notifications function is super vague).  Nevertheless, here it is - and thank you.



Love & Peace,

EL

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