Who cares if only our friends read our work? That just means we need to make a lot of friends.
An audience is always warming but it must never be necessary to your work. —Gertrude Stein
This site is a workspace and showcase for Dana Guthrie Martin's writing. Her posts here are sometimes poetry, sometimes prose, sometimes prose poetry, sometimes lyrical prose. They are sometimes lists, which are neither prose nor poetry, unless they are one or the other or both. Click here to read more.
This work is licensed under Creative Commons. If you don’t credit Dana (by using her full name and preferably by linking back to the appropriate post) for however you copy, distribute, transmit or adapt her words, you are being bad. And naughty. And she will have her servant monkeys hunt you down and cut your hands off so you can never copy, distribute, transmit or adapt anyone’s work again and call it your own.
(Unless, of course, you were to use your butt cheeks to manipulate your keyboard with the copying, distributing, transmitting, adapting and whatnot, but Dana fortunately has only met one person whose butt cheeks are that talented. He could play a major third on a piano using nothing but his ass. She kids you not.)
The official NaPoWriMo site.
The 70s are doomed / to be the only decade that knew / what to do with colour.
we take me apart — / by vertebrae / we take me apart — / by ribs / we take me apart — / by sternum
Archive for seen and heard (click links to read posts) »
All content under Creative Commons Attribution, Noncommercial, Share Alike license | Header image Man Ignoring Lady, by Glen Mies | Unbound by HSO
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What do you do if even your friends don’t read your work?
Then you have to make a lot of enemies, Mark.
love this.
Deezee, thank you. I said it in jest in response to the way that some poets and writers tend not to “count” their friends as “real” readers of their work. That’s kind of sad then you think about it, you know? Why do we hold those we don’t know in higher regard than those we do?