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I’ve made a major change to w.alexander.com. In fact, I purchased a new domain: alexanderdunford.blog. Both URL’s are active still, so you only need to subscribe to my new newsletter. The reason I updated and optimized my website is because I wanted to focus on delivering great content. School is over, and it’s time to turn my blog into something marketable.

Unfortunately, talent doesn’t determine a writer’s success, instead a writer’s marketability determines if they will be traditionally published or shown the door. Some writers voluntarily elect to self-publish, never approaching a major or minor publishing house, because it is easier to make a lot more money—if you are a good marketeer. However, I’m not focused on money, but I am concerned with growth. What I care about right now is writing the best damn prose I can scratch on paper. And I want you to join me.

When my novel is done, I want to be ready to send it straight to the top. I want to show my publisher that I have enough of a following to warrant them taking a risk on my book.

My readers have a great opportunity here to get to know me, as my Newsletter will run similar to how I have been posting. The difference being the content will be premium and well-put together, and will hopefully attract thousands of new readers.

Remember to subscribe at the top of the page. And will you do me a favor? Will you share my website, maybe your favorite poem of mine or this post or the link to my newsletter, on your own social media? It makes a huge difference.

A Nod To Derry’s Son

This piece was originally published by The Closed Eye Open in February, 2022. I hope you enjoy this addition to my portfolio, and let me know what you think. Interacting with this post helps more people see my poetry.

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A Nod To Derry’s Son

Derry, New Hampshire was the longtime home of Robert Frost. This poem is in dedication to my favorite poetry book: North of Boston, and his poem October.

A nod to him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, gyrating orange and red and yellow leaves, dancing alongside stone-walled pastures, caroling in voices divine.

Beneath a chimney smoking, her singing overheard, the man north of Boston, stirred.

With his pen he picked and plowed and tilled her mysteries, and, in return, a thousand rhythms’ ineffable conceived expression.

Her rolling hills and tree lined cathedrals, he interpreted.

In his toil, she delighted.

For he, the Poet, penned psalms performed by the winds and cries he earwigged from her cold, autumn skies.

To him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, a nod is given.

—W. Alexander

Other Writings:

On Writing: Stopping and Noticing

Damaris Coulter Photo-of-photo: Taken by W. Alexander

The lights this morning beam bright. I cozy myself into, what I think is a pine desk, in the furthermost corner of the WPL—Wolfeboro Public Library. My closest neighbor is a beautiful artwork, really a fine-art-esque, professional photograph, named “Service.” In the picture, a strong woman poses. She’s proud, she’s tattooed, she’s in bibs, and she wears big, gold hoop earrings. She’s my dream! Granted, if I wasn’t already married to my dream girl. Her eyes reveal her wisdom, courage, and the tough story that gave her both of these very obvious powers.

I didn’t expect when I sat down this morning and began hacking out the next phase in my latest novel, I would be interrupted. However, it’s her words, not her photo, which are responsible for holding my attention.

Damaris Coulter: "Rather than being focused on money or pretense, our family was more focused on asking, 'Are you being a good friend and sibling? Are you kind? Are you generous?'"

Ms. Coulter owns a restaurant, along with her sister, called Coco’s Cantina, and every Friday, they offer a meal to the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective.

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On Stopping and Noticing

When’s the last time you stopped and noticed what’s around you? When’s the last time a stranger’s photograph and short bio wrestled your attention from the day’s insurmountable tasks? The masters teach all true and good artists are versed and proficient in our abilities to observe. I admit it: I’m great at finding, thinking about, and weaving the tiniest, nearly invisible, sliver of details and ideas stemming from everything I see and experience into my writing. Of course, artists like me, like you, still miss more than we catch. It means we’re human and other clichés.

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Trust me when I tell you that stopping and noticing the details around you is life’s most generative experience, not only will your writing improve, but so will your mental health. You don’t have to go to your local library to get inspired to notice. Stopping and noticing is not something a person just-knows-how-to-do, but it’s the easiest philosophy to pick-up, and will generatively fill your life with gratitude and empathy.

What’s Her Story got To Do with Me?

I’m writing a historical fiction novel that takes place in the fifth century B.C.E., Egypt. So what’s a woman who owns a restaurant outside of Auckland, NZ, have to do with me as a writer and Egypt? I’m glad you asked. Here me out:

One of my main character’s is a prostitute. She didn’t choose the life god(s) set out before her, and everyone in her world keeps their strides wide and their noses upturned. Nobody ever reaches out to help her. This was, is, and I fear, will always be the plight of our world’s most vulnerable. It’s called Neighbor Apathy. Okay, I just made that term up. Neighbor Apathy is when we believe we can’t help someone so different, in such a foreign reality, living a lifestyle we can never be seen to walk next, so we choose not to offer a hand, and we choose our own pride and judgement over another’s brokeness. That’s Neighbor Apathy.

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Here’s the literary theme of my character’s arc: culture creates its own evils. Neighbor apathy is disagreeing with someone, someone in your community, someone’s story you know nothing about, and judging you won’t have anything to do with them. In other words: ‘I don’t like them, so I don’t care what they think or do or believe.’

W. Alexander, 2022

The Bible teaches us to love our neighbors as ourselves, so when we think a stranger’s problems aren’t ours, then we think we know better than God and his desire for human harmony. He says to help the breaking, to shut up and listen to the hurting, and do something, anything at your disposal, that He’s blessed you with, to change the lives of the flailing. Not for your joy, but because God holds each of us responsible for what we do, and for what we choose not to do.

A wise man once said: It’s not what I believe, but what I do that defines me. That man was Batman, so you know he’s right.

So, when I took my seat this morning, in a library I don’t normally work from, and I noticed Damaris Coulter’s photo called Service, and I read her short bio, clicked and followed the QR link to her youtube, and I learned about her work, I engaged in the generative experience of learning how at least one-human, in this case Coulter, is making a difference in a world tired of being asked to make a difference.

I know nothing about Ms. Coulter, but I know art, and therefore I know the eyes of empathy and strength, and hers aren’t swimming in empty platitudes. She shields the broken or breaking from life’s universal, but horrible lie: we are alone in our struggles. She’s a hero. Her legacy helps my own story.

She Helps my Story

My second-leading character’s name is Satipy. She’s the prostitute, and her background comes straight from academic and contemporary research. Satipy was stolen as a young girl. She was robbed from a healthy home and forced into sex-slavery. She’s forced to work outside various Egyptian gods’ temples. She’s seen as meat, not as a person. People avoid her on the streets; mothers warn daughters not to be like her, father’s lust in secret, but are harsh with her in the square. Satipy, par-ably, represents the misrepresentation of struggles. Until this morning, and my encounter with Ms. Coulter, I wasn’t confident about how her story ends. That changed.

W. Alexander’s Published Poetry

I know how she ends now. Satipy is a positive arc. She starts from somewhere low and hopeless, and she ends somewhere better-off, but most importantly, and convicted by her experience to keep other girls, and boys, from ending up trafficked slaves in the Ancient-Near-East. Now, I think, no I know, her ending will have her generatively reaching out and helping others at great personal risk. Like her, everyone she knows is forgotten by the world’s prudes —majority of populations.

Stopping and Noticing Works

On the other side of a globe, unique to her own vision, and for her own reasons, Ms. Coulter began feeding the prostitutes in her area, giving them one less need to have to perform-their-services. She is serving them with love not judgement. She could have, and probably never will have, any idea that her photo and story hangs in the Wolfeboro Public Library, in rural Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, USA. She might never know how her legacy, which I happened to stop and notice, will influence and help me write and flesh-out the The day god Died. But, that fact is encouraging, because you never know how your own actions can cross the globe and inspire others. None of us are doing any of this life alone; we’re all in this together, so stop and notice the life around you, and your life will grow.

The power of stopping and noticing is paramount to honest writing. You cannot write what you do not know, and you will never learn the complexities of the human condition by not taking interest in strangers. Empathy is a practice, not an ideal.

So, I say all true and good artists are proficient in empathy, because they stop and notice and refrain from Neighbor Apathy.

—Happy Writing.

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The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

I’m Published in The Closed Eye Open

Hi, friends and readers, subscribers and first-time-site clickers. I have big, beautiful news to share with you. I published in The Closed Eye Open, which is an impressive literary journal boasting beautiful art and great writing. If you’re looking for something new, creatively speaking, to delight and inspire you, I recommend reading The Closed Eye Open.

Inspiration for A Nod To Derry’s Son

Do you love Robert Frost? Do you love living in rural, picturesque New Hampshire? Well, I can say yes to both questions. However, Frost’s faithful are found anywhere-but-local; his admirers span the globe. This is credit for writing poems which painted and printed specific images of a noble New England countryside. He wrote about a land hard and untamed, but where solitude is easily found. He showed us inside beautiful and brief moments of times fleeting and mortalities remembered.

There was a time when all I ever knew of New Hampshire was Robert Frost. Now that I live here, I experience her, this state, through his voice. These leaves and lakes, rivers and mountains, still sing for anyone who will listen.

Before I met my wife, Frost’s lines were the only images I had for reference. I compare this experience to what I imagine it would feel like discovering Rivendell is a real place. Wink!

And that’s what this poem is about: it’s not just an ode to Robert Frost, but an ode to his Muse —New England herself. Derry is a town, it exists today, and it takes me about an hour-and-a-half drive from my home in Wolfeboro, NH, to get there. This whole state is a beautiful, even magical place. No wonder New Hampshire is considered an artist’s paradise.

How To Read The Poem

You’ll read my poem online on The Closed Eye Open’s website. A Nod To Derry’s Son, by W. Alexander.

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New in Art

Portrait of _________, by W. Alexander

I clocked thirty-nine-hours creating this piece. Not one minute of time counted was paint drying. Nope! I made this on my new iPad with the apple pencil in photoshop. You can view this piece and other creations on my gallery page. Soon, you will be able to visit view my entire portfolio in Virtual Reality. Follow to stay-in-touch.

Tell Your Friends and Fellow Creatives About Me

Go ahead and repost, comment, share, email, whatever, my post to anyone who you know loves writing. Together, let’s share sweater words and write better worlds.


More from W. Alexander

The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

My wife featured in SKATING Magazine

Most of you don’t know that I married a celebrity (Olympian and professional ice-dancer) and that we, now, abode in picturesque New Hampshire. Recently, she interviewed for SKATING Magazine. I will brag on my wife every chance I get.

Revision, Start Learning to Love It

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“If you haven’t surprised yourself, you haven’t written”

Eudora Welty

Anyone can write. Few revise well. Revision is essential. It is much more than spell-check and grammar adjustments. Revision is ensuring the story you are telling is clear. Rarely is misinterpretation the mistake of a reader. The job of writers is to ensure readers do not do any heavy lifting. Any skewed reading, comes from bad writing. How does the writer ensure the message they are conveying is interpreted clearly? You guessed it; revision. No one sits down and writes a novel by the seat of their pants in one long first and final draft. If they do, the writing will be garbage, regardless of talent. I would not count on being the exception.

Related Post

The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

Revision is where the real magic happens.

Starting over sucks. I dread it. All who write dread it. My stomach turns at the thought. But understand this, the rewards of revising will outweigh the pains. You will be shocked. Learn to enjoy the process. Here are some questions you can ask about your work:

  • Why should my reader turn the first page to the second? Does the first sentence, paragraph, page introduce tension? If not, red alarm.
  • Is there unnecessary summary? Cut. Cut. Cut! I too often have the impulse to cover too much ground. It destroys energy and I find, I tell more than show. This is a bad thing. The whole premise of writing prose, is to show not tell. A concept I will elaborate on with a later post.
  • Is it original? Stereotypes are lazy. A good writer will extract any cliches and make a point to show the exact and honest.
  • Is it clear? Ambiguity and mystery are one of the pleasures of literature. But there is a fine line between mystery and sloppiness. I love characters rich with contradictions. That is the human condition. But I often have to start off with a more simple reality. Then I can build out the imaginative. Have your character answer these: Where are we? When are we? Who are they? How do things look? What time of day or night is it? Weather? What is happening? On how to create captivating characters, check out: Create Captivating Characters
  • Is it self-conscious? Just tell the story. Your style will follow of itself. But you have to just tell the story. If you get carried away dressing your prose with all your wit and insight, there is a good chance you are having more fun writing that the reader will have reading. Good writing is easy reading! Just tell the story.
  • Where is it too long? In fiction, you want sharpness, economy, and vivid details in telling. With every sentence, say what you mean to say and get out. Hit it and quit it. Use the fewest possible words. What does this look like? My advice, read the poets. Trust me, the poets will teach you everything.
  • Are there too many scenes? Try and tell your story with the fewest possible scenes. It is tempting to give each turn of plot or change of setting a new scene when fusing several together would proffer better effect.
  • Where is it too general? Look for general and vague terms. Write instead a particular thing, an exact size and degree. In fact, my short tip, cut the words very and really out of your work entirely. You are welcome!

Related Posts:

Writing

I’m starting 2022 intending to grow. Help me grow as an artist and influencer and follow.

Revision, revision, revision. Originality, economy, and clarity all come from thorough revision. These questions are just the start and short of taking a creative writing class, they will serve you well.

Remember in fiction, the goal is to show characters doing things. Never tell what you mean. I promise if the prose is clear and concise, the reader will not misinterpret. You write for the reader. If you forget that, you have lost your way.

Writing

Writing is Business

I am not overthinking; I am self-reckoning.

Me.

This article is uncomfortable to write, because I’m not pretending artsy-pompous, pennings of self-indulgence, or bleeding on display my deep personal wrestlings. I’m writing you in the nude—naked in spirit. It’s important that you read me. I have to admit something embarrassing.

I confess too many of my posts have been half-assed written. I blame my self-sabotage’s grip on my life, and how it’s crushing my dreams, squeezing the life out of me. My blog is my brand; my train-ticket destined for you to end up reading. Don’t be alarmed. Where you are is where I’m safe. 2022, is my year for both professional and personal growth. I share my strategy for growth. I’m concentrating on quality. I might even end up paying for a web designer. I want a flawless image. I’m twice published now. I got own this accomplishment. I think it’s okay to indulge in a win right? I worry I’m not worthy of accomplishment all the time.

It’s nice to get that off my chest. Thank you. 😊

I sobered to the cold-water-truth: making myself into a successful writer will be hard work. I’ll be thirty-three-years-old this summer. It’s time I win the fight against self-sabotage. So I’m going to do my blog right: each post gets equal attention to what I write in my prose and poetry. I want to be tomorrow’s next class act and sophisticated New England writer. We all have our ambitions, and you now know this one is mine. My dream is to publish a novel. Starting today, I will start performing like the writer I want to be, and I hope to attract more readers like you on my journey. It’s time I step out into the world; the primetime hour of my ambition nears. The time has come to put everything learned to test and work it.

I graduate with my english degree in a few months. I’ve been all in; I’m living everything I’ve learned. I looked into literatures deep waters, and she shared with me how she sailed over the currents flowing times passed, ideas and theory churned and crashed. She often whispers to me, I am your religion.

art, by W. Alexander

I try to never forget God is first-and-foremost worshipped as the creator. He’s the artist sculpting the cosmos. So, yes, I guess literature is right whispering she’s my religion. I am convinced it must have been the early artists, those who first looked inside themselves to color-in and seed perspective for the world outside, who first discovered God’s presence.

Creatives like us understand lightning can strike the artist anytime. It’s even more likely when the writer’s pen is spent and hot. My blog’s goal is to steal as much of that fire as I can and give it back to you. I’m starting 2022 intending to grow. Help me grow as an artist and influencer and follow.

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More Writing

The Day god Died: Chapters I & II

“…I hated him and his kind. I hated his affluence, his expensive clothes, his chiseled looks, and the arrogance he was born too. But most of all, I hated the power he held over me, his assumption of authority, and the truth of his superiority.”

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