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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
January 11, 2019 at 10:43pm January 11, 2019 at 10:43pm
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Prompt: Dinner with Queen Elizabeth or Stephen King. Which one would you enjoy dining with and why? You can only ask one personal question, what’s it going to be?
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Stephen King, hands down.
Queen Elizabeth, too much pomp and circumstance.
Stephen King, literature, writing, and especially because I read his book, On Writing.
I would enjoy dining with him or just sitting around chewing the fat. I am sure I’ll learn a thing or two. After all, this is the author who said, “Books are uniquely portable magic” and “Writing is seduction.”
As to asking a question, I really don’t like to ask personal questions to anyone, unless I know them very well and I know they won’t be offended. Since I don’t know Stephen King personally, I am going to ask him this:
“In a Paris Review Interview, you mentioned a huge St. Bernard scared you, which led to your book Cujo. What else scares you that you haven’t written about, yet?”
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January 11, 2019 at 7:23pm January 11, 2019 at 7:23pm
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Prompt: John Gardner's The Art of Fiction has an interesting third person limited POV exercise. Let's give it a try-
"Try describing a barn from the point of view of a man who just learned that his son has died. Don't tell us anything about the son or even that his son has died...just describe the barn as he sees it." Have fun.
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He stood like a solemn totem pole in the middle of the cornfield in his ancestral land, now of grass and weed, and shifted his eyes toward the old empty barn, toward where the gray and white sparrows flew, toward the rusting tin roof like that of an Orthodox Cathedral on which the rain had beaten down during the night before. At the window frame, a broken glass pane had become a portal for the pigeons, swallows, and mice.
The barn’s broken-down walls with their peeled-off bold shade of red paint and their cracked plaster echoed of the past, whispering stories of times gone by, of wheat and corn swaying in the gentle winds and of pigs, the wild sow, and their troughs.
They talked of the water well, still there, still bearing its existence in the cold and rain, its pump now rusty and absurd, unable to turn of its own weight.
They talked of the sweet meadow hay stacked in bales, old cowbells, and the pitter-patter of little feet, now ethereal, and the hayloft’s rafters smelling of rot, where love once played hide-and-seek.
He stood there like a solemn totem-pole, remembering, looking, taking in the devastation of the barn and his own tattered and torn insides.
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