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Rebels they are called Working against a dictatorship government TNT and shrapnel crater the earth Until the city is in ruin And all that’s left is the afterbirth of war A country is torn at the seams by civil war
aconcagua backpack recommendation Frayed ends of sanity We don’t dream in this place nor hope We fight to survive The white helmets arrive to help And sometimes they die too But sometimes we live And maybe we will learn what freedom is Support The White Helmets Posted for dVerse Poets, Open Link Night #187, January 12, 2017 I wrote my autobiography, “Lost Child, Broken Man” without a scrap of outline—not an amazing feat, ladies and gentlemen—since I literally knew all of the details to that story before I wrote it down! It still took a lot of revisions and some rearrangements before I was satisfied that I’d done more than just convey my life’s events.
I wanted to tell my story in the most creative way possible: to be successful with theme and have that theme lead to a moral and closure for the reader. I wanted the reader to be able to identify emotions and their correlation to events without becoming confused or overwhelmed. Something that wasn’t always easy for me to do myself, especially before the writing of it. Writing it, however, was very cathartic for me. I never outlined my short stories either. It was a lot easier for me to keep theme and moral and character in my head and just write revisions. I’m about 30 pages now into a novel (“Broken Homes”) which I’ve tried to write at least 3 times in the past 7 years, and at this point, it’s evolved so much you wouldn’t recognize the first or even the last draft with this one. Much has changed, but the main idea is still there. The only real constant is the main character, a 7 year old boy named Michael. A lot of other characters have changed in relationship to the boy but still still have many of the same personality traits and play similar roles as their now discarded counterparts.
The last few months this story has been brewing in the back of my mind, and I felt it was time to start writing it again. This time I did not want to do it without an outline, since the last manuscripts quickly lost any sense of direction, and the story is now much more complex (more characters, more happening). My mistake this time was trying to be too detailed with the outline of each chapter. This actually made it a little harder to write because it left me with no creative license, no surprises, no sudden epiphanies. I didn’t get to meet any strangers and invite them into my story. So, once more, I started over, and this time broke the story into 3 parts and summarized each one, then went back and wrote a few sentences about the first few chapters. It’s working out a lot better now. So, out with the outline?? No, but I’ve discovered that the key is not to look at the outline as an “instruction manual” but as a bare skeleton. You, as the writer, are giving those bones flesh and bringing the story to life!
It may seem obvious, but when you write an outline, you should allow yourself some room to work outside of it. It’s fun to meet a character you weren’t expecting to be there or work your way out of a sudden predicament. Also, I find it easier to outline in chunks as opposed to trying to break down every single chapter straight from the beginning. Outlining is important, because it helps you to be organized, and it may keep you from writing an extra draft, of which, for me, there should be three minimum, but that’s another story. Until then, good luck and have fun! Sean Michael, October 2016 In 1949, we successfully tested nuclear weapons, so the Soviets upped their arsenal. They supplied North Korea with arms. Destruction is mutually assured. We raced to build bigger and badder weapons during the 1950 Cold War. American Navy Seals swam to enemy shores with B54 mini-nukes in their backpacks. Mini-nukes that are more powerful than the bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
Mutually assured destruction is the lesson that the arms race taught. I think we’re lucky America and Russia never actually fought as Truman hinted at the use of nuclear weapons to stop the spread of communism. In time, my friends, in due time. For now, our nukes sit in silos being polished and maintained. Not a symbol of power or strength, Posted for dVerse Poets, Open Link Night #185, December 1, 2016 “Without struggle there is no progress.” I can tell you what the struggle’s all about: The struggle’s when your parents trade your toys to the dope man. There’s no formula, just empty cans. The baby has an ear infection, but there’s no medicine. The struggle’s trying to be a man when you’re a kid. Checking the fridge 50 times, but no food has magically appeared. Being picked on because your peers think you’re weird. The struggle’s trying to understand something that makes no sense.
Like the screaming behind closed doors, And why your parents don’t love you anymore. The struggle’s being 13 and sleeping on the streets. Having to steal your next meal or look in the trash behind the grocery store for something to eat. The struggle’s never asking for the situation you’ve been placed in and being powerless to change it. Maintaining a vicious cycle. The struggle is and the struggle does. I guess that without the struggle, we’d be nothing. The abolitionists headed West and called themselves “Free Soilers.” They were strong against slavery but did not welcome blacks to settle. A separatists state was created. Slave-owning whites arrived with another notion: To take slavery across the nation to the Pacific Ocean. The free soilers resisted their presence, but laws were passed that banned even speaking against a “Pro-Slaver.” Free soilers countered by holding their own elections and creating their own laws.
A dichotomous government was formed and struggled in vain over what is right and what is wrong. because a state divided in two by principal and moral view is preoccupied and feeble. When a pro-slavery sheriff is shot down, 800 angry men retaliate and march on the town. Hatred blazes through the countryside as even women and children die. There is no turning back now. This war they dare call “civil” begins in the East in 1861 as guns explode. The conflict in “Bleeding Kansas” forebodes that father and son will turn their guns against each other; brother will kill brother. During lulls in the fighting, they share tobacco and whiskey, then return to the front lines and resume one knee. Black powder burns the air. Musket balls burrow in flesh. Gangrenous infections devour limbs creating amputees. Famine spreads through the ranks. Confederate soldiers pillage boots and coats from the dead,
as Lincoln operates the telegraph and directs Union soldiers. Destroying the southern railways would prove to be the ultimate coup as rebels froze and died cut off from supply lines. “There is no greater task before us…” before an assassin’s bullet smashed into his head in a last ditch effort by the Confederacy to dismantle the Union government and commence with guerrilla warfare against a grieving North.thus always to tyrants. War, bellowed General Nathan Forrest, means killing; and the confederate president orders the remaining regiments to continue the fight. But battle-worn and weary General Johnston surrenders his troops. The Unionist were no angels and even Lincoln contradicted his stances on slavery, but when the war was over, there was no doubt both sides fought Free as the air. It would be long after Lincoln spoke those words that freedom had any meaning, long after the heart of Kansas began bleeding.