Who cares if only our friends read our work? That just means we need to make a lot of friends.
It is fascinating to see into other minds, especially across culture. It has given me the impression that experience and perception are much more commonly shared than doctrines of cultural difference often suggest. — Paul Hoover
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.)
You think you know something about caulk. / You think you know about the different kinds of caulk.
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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?