Archives for posts with tag: dreams

I have been writing poetry for awhile now, ever since I was seventeen. So I decided to create an e-book of my poems entitled A Rook Among Sparrows: poems of the lonely dreamer, which can be found on Amazon. My poems are mostly about dreams, having them, trying to achieve them, never giving up on them. I am still trying to achieve my literary dream. It’s the same one I’ve been having since 2004.

cover2Here’s an excerpt from my e-book of poems.

Saturday Night Poetry Club


Like a rook among sparrows.

A glimpse into the looking glass

Doesn’t capture


An island of woman sinking into the sea of fears.


The last leaf

Clinging in the autumn breeze.


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Still. Silent. Planted firm between a rock and dreams. Patience of a pebble. No surrender of dreams.

Standing on the edge of hope and disappointment. So easily torn between keep trying and stop trying. The winds of doubt blow dreams like scraps of paper.

No matter how long it takes, never cut loose that passion that burns like fire. A fire inside your very soul. Snip. Snip the naysayers. And believe in your decade long dream coming to fruition.

So on the 9th of July , the seventh month in our calendar year I turned 34. Being 34 just feels kind of odd. 27, 30 or 33 didn’t feel odd. I haven’t really accomplished much in 3 decades of being on Earth. The beginning of this year when I was still 33 I was hoping this would be a literary year. A year where I would land an agent and so forth…Instead I am approaching 34 rejections on my 3rd manuscript. Ok maybe not that many but it is double digits. I have 34 creative ideas running through my head. Ok maybe 7. I have 34 pages typed in my fourth manuscript. I really think that is accurate. I have entered 3 writing contests. The results are in on two of them. And the winner is…not me. One can not say I haven’t tried to achieve my literary dreams. Will it be the 34th thing I write. Here’s to 34. Maybe I will cry for 34 minutes and let 34 tears roll down the contours of my face.

Pennies in a jar/Saving for a rainy day/sometimes dreams don’t come true/wishing wells and shooting stars/hope flies/like summer birds/I’m left with a prayer/depositing pennies in a jar/ I wish I could blow out a candle/and there be the dream I’ve been seeing/but all I have are these pennies in a jar/and rainy days

Today is July 9th, I was born on this day 33 years ago. Did I do anything to  celebrate? No. I did get a free pastry (in my case a cookie with candy pieces that closely resembled plain m&ms) from Panera Bread and free noodles from Noodles & Company. Other than that its just the same ordinary day on repeat. Do I have a birthday wish? Just one, that my writing career would take off. And I could leave the grueling retail industry behind.

At the end of January I decided to take my destiny into my own hands and self-published my middle-grade novel, The Strange World of Neve Rimbrl. But of course I didn’t have near the success of the people I read about (Amanda Hocking) My royalties are $3.64 so I can’t quit my day job for my dream job.

So today on my ordinary birthday, I went to the library and wrote down literary agents that represent mg/ya novels. So maybe I’ll strike gold with one of them. And maybe I’ll finally know what its like to do what you love.


Staring at the full moon in the sky

she felt empty inside, her dreams felt dead

as lilacs in winter

dried tears made tracks on her cheeks


Staring blankly at sheets of paper

out of ink

creativity runs dry as desert ground

She ponders, “what happens to an undreamed dream?”


Staring at the cloud clotted sky

she felt heavy with rain, her dreams seemed to fall

like snow

She ponders, what happens to an undreamed dream?”

She couldn’t not dream. She had to dream. And that dream had to blossom into

something real.



If you ask me how I feel? I say I’m deep shades of melancholy. I just staked a claim in somber city. There are reasons why I feel the way that I feel. Those bastards at work is number one. Last time I check I wasn’t a child so why is another  adult raising their voice at me. I’m making hourly wages and I work hard doing multiple things: zoning, collecting returns, back up cashiering, working freight, assisting customers. Sunday night when I got home my body literally ached. This was no metaphorical things. Every night my feet hurt.They hurt so bad that I toddle when I walk. Which brings me to my next source of ire. How damn impatient those bastards are. “I need you to move with a sense of urgency.” “They on my head. I’m on your head.”  I move as fast as I can. I’m no damn hummingbird. “Ya’ll move like ya’ll have no where to go” Well I don’t . I’m there from 1 to 10 pm. Here’s the thing they don’t schedule any morning associates to handle all that freight. So when i come in the returns are turning into a mountain and there are still pallets of freight. So one can see how I feel. My home life is no better. I need some money to come my way. So I can leave my aunt’s basement. It constantly rains from my eyes.

 My heart breaks when I see my dream not coming full circle. For the past seven years I tried with no avail to break into the literary world. Query here. Query there. So I decided to go the self-publishing route. My book has been on for 27 days now. So far only one person has purchased The Strange World of Neve Rimbel. Trying to sell your book by yourself is hard. I don’t know how to market it. I posted it on twitter and made a facebook page and made a blog on wordpress about it. I even told some of my co-workers. I don’t know how I can get strangers interested in my creative work. I’ve read so many success stories of people self-publishing. I want that to be me. But how? I would love to have one-fourth the success  Amanda Hocking had when she self-published. She made a million dollars. I’ve only made $1.64.

I am 32 years-old. I only want to write books for a living. I don’t want to have bosses (i.e department , assistant, support, zone managers all raising their voices at me. I’m tired of my entire body aching. I’m tired of crying. I am tired of feeling like a loser. I am tired of not having my own place. Living with senior citizens because I really do. (No offense mom) I am finally tired of seeing and hearing about other people living their dreams.