failure-never-blogs

[failure-never-blogs]

Numb

I write to get my feelings out So I can work out anxiety and doubt So, what do I write when I’m numb, When I feel deaf, blind, and Dumb

When I know I should say something When I want to say something, anything But the words just won’t come When my muse is on the run

You can tell when my words look like this That I’m so very far from bliss I just need to feel something, anything So that I’ll answer when the phone rings

So I can have some kind of strength So I can get up and brush my teeth I need a reason to get out of bed A feeling just so I can clear my head

Or maybe just an answer or two A lie or truth will honestly do Where did this come from? Why am I comfortably numb?

This one I consider a sister poem to “Smeared Ink” It’s the exact opposite of that poem, not a quick, direct poem. This one was one I wrote in a place of very deep depression and borderline despair. It was written slowly, with each line smooth and still. No rush it was deliberate. something I wrote just to try to find something, anything that I could feel. A plea with myself to find myself and to find some kind of feeling. I struggled with whether to post this one but ultimately decided it would be a good thing to do. maybe someone could identify with it. understand the feeling and feel a little less alone out there. 

[failure-never-blogs]

The Ghost of You

The rain is coming down in sheets I’m tracing the lights on the street Listening to the steady thumps On the windshield while my heart jumps

Unlike you I’m missing a beat When you’re sitting in my seat Your scent fills the air Even though you aren’t really there

You’re a phantom of the mind Lost memories of like kind You cascade me like the rain Filling me with familiar pain

And even though it’s been so long You’re a familiar, comfortable song Your love was a soothing melody That now imprisons me daily

Now I’m wracked by guilt And the pieces of what we built As her taste is on my lips But you’re in my fingertips

I keep trying to move on To a newer and greener lawn I can’t escape your specter She isn’t you and you aren’t her

You’re the poison in my veins My constant and familiar pain You still fit me like a glove The ghost of my long dead love

I can’t run from grief and sorrow The haunts of today and tomorrow It’s something that I’ll never be free Even if she says she love me

She’s coming back soon But your darkness still looms I love her, yet I still love you I can’t escape the ghost of you

So I’ll see you around In familiar sights and sounds Your memory has become my ghost And I, Your eternal host

I’ve posted a blog post examining this poem and it’s origins and other poems sharing it’s name. Please read it if you’re interested in context http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/158013119549/the-ghosts-of-poems-past

Joshua Romack

[failure-never-blogs]

The Ghosts of Poems Past

I posted a new poems guys. You can find it here  http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/158013237664/the-ghost-of-you I would read it before moving any further into this post.

I’m really bad about taking time to sit down and type stuff up for here. Even my idea of giving commentary for poems has kinda fallen by the wayside as most of the time I don’t find anything that interesting to say about it for the most part, I mean the reason I’m sitting down today is a poem I’ve written but that’s more of an introspective look back at the title more so than the poem itself. I guess I’ll probably write about some other things in this post as well since I’m taking the time to post a blog post instead of just a commentary. But I’m not entirely sure what it is as I’m typing this all up. But for now let’s dig into the title theme for this post.

“The Ghost of You” is a poem I first wrote a long time ago. Honestly I would say it first goes back to 2010 which looking back isn’t that long ago but for me as a writer it’s a bit back there. I mean admittedly I’ve been writing since I was 13 years old and stories even longer but nothing from when I was a teenager has stuck around so much as the idea of this poem. The very first one is a very short poem which I’ll post right now

No matter what I do I can’t escape the ghost of you The electric touch of your skin The memory will never thin

I feel your presence right beside me You’re there even if I can’t see Your voice still haunts my mind It’s so lovely and kind

I still feel your lips on mine This must be some kind of sign No matter what I do I stay lost in the ghost of you

It dates back to 8/27/2010 which is the oldest date I can find on my computer. Honestly it’s not really aged well at all. It’s something that I can place mostly due to the fact that it has rhyming which is something I only started doing in 2009/2010. It’s also incredibly short for me. I’m a bit long winded when it comes to writing anything. I see potential in some of the individual lines which is probably why I ended up revising it sometime later. But I’ll get into that in a little bit. As to what drove me to write it? Well I’m not entirely sure I want to say it probably had something to do with a girl I was fawning over at the time. 

Also at the time and still to this day I’m a big fan of My Chemical Romance. Now looking back at the poem it has nothing to do thematically with the song or even anything on the album. So I’m not entirely sure what it was that led into me working on the poem. Besides this post isn’t about the poem itself so much as it’s about an evolution of the poem’s title in what I wrote and how it morphed. This poem isn’t based around loss so much as it is in missing someone who isn’t there in the present moment. It’s more about infatuation and the feeling of that moment after you leave them. Let’s move onto the second iteration.

Once again I miss your touch But as always it’s far too much I can’t forget the feel of your skin It’s a memory that will never thin

The beautiful sound of your voice Has always been my music of choice But sadly, now it’s only in my head But the sweet memory isn’t dead

No matter where I go or what I do I just can’t escape the ghost of you In my heart you will always stay I cannot just walk away

From your spirit I cannot hide To you my soul is open wide You’ve made my head your home So I guess I’m never really alone

Your presence still haunts me But your face I cannot see Inside it’s dark and cold When did you get so bold?

So where do I go from here? I don’t know why you disappeared How long should I sit and wait? Or is it already far too late?

Even now your words haunt my mind I’m trying so hard to leave you behind But your ghost stays haunting me Will you ever let me go free?

It’s nearing the break of day And your spirit won’t go away So maybe you won’t drive me mad With memories of the love we had

This version is actually one that I ended up posting a while ago. It was written 9/18/2011 from what I can tell from the original word document. I posted it on facebook in it’s old “notes” function which isn’t used anymore and was honestly pretty awful even for what is was. But I’m not here to moan about where I used to post things I’m here to chronicle things. 

This one is a revision of the original that I did to make it more about loss. I realized I wasn’t a huge fan of the original and ended up rewriting it to use in a story “The Water’s Edge: Alone” which I never published or posted anywhere, I actually abandoned that story I struggled with the ending of the story and never felt that great about the story as a whole. 

I guess something good came out of the struggle of that abandoned story which was that poem. Speaking of those stories I actually wrote three of them but only ever did anything with one of them. I originally only submitted one (http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/150328547354/the-waters-edge-the-pier) to a short story contest which I won then wrote two more. The second titled “The Song” I also never published because I felt like it was to formulaic and I never felt that great about it but felt good enough to share with a couple of my friends who volunteer as test subjects for my writing sometimes. Included in that “series” of my writing was a poem called “Mourning Sunrise” (http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/150012138849/mourning-sunrise) which I’ve actually posted here before. But yeah basically I reworked for a story that I never went back to work on and eventually only posted the poem.

How I feel about the poem is unique, I really like the poem for what it is, a rough draft of something that could have been something better if I was more talented but honestly I’m pretty okay with it. I feel like I capture some of what I was going for when I was more raw intensity more than talent or skill. It was one that I debated with myself about reworking or editing heavily or maybe even rewriting. I’m fond of it but not overly so. It is what it is but it holds a special place in my heart for what it is. I don’t think I’ll ever really rework it or publish it on my blog by itself. I think this is how it will eventually be left, an interesting footnote to me and probably to me alone in my journey as an artist.

“Ghosts”

Now let’s move a little bit closer to “now” with the next couple poems. In my google drive I have a folder simply named “Ghosts” sitting beneath my poems folder. I don’t remember exactly what it was that made me segregate the poems into there but they all deal with some of the same themes. The Poem “Nightmares” (http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/138045238229/nightmares) is there the most recent poem I published “Ghosts in Smoke” (http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/156714447629/ghosts-in-smoke) is in there as well. 

While that is mostly fictional it’s not the only one which holds those names  and it’s actually known in the drive as “Smoke” which was originally written 8-29-15 and recently posted after sitting in my drafts queue for a while. It’s an interesting poem for me that I have an attachment for in some weird way. I actually really like the way it’s written and the way it flows but it’s a very different poem from the one I'm about to talk about which actually has the name “Ghost in Smoke (Ghost of You)” in the google drive folder.

My soul is heavy tonight Staring at the candle light Tracing patterns in the smoke My heart beating in my throat

My roads as dim as the light I’m lost this early summer night I’m reaching for you hand But all that’s there is empty land

I forgot that you’re still a dream No matter how real it seemed But that doesn’t change a thing This old wound still stings

I’m still haunted by ghosts The things I regret the most For now all I can do is pray And wait for the dawn of a new day

Because I see you in the shadows Your presence is all I know You’re rooted so deep inside I can never truly hide

This is actually the older of the two poems and the vastly more personal one to me. It was written 7-16-15 and feels closer to the original title that “Smoke”. I’m not entirely sure of why I wrote what I did. I guess it was hearkening back to the death of an old relationship more than anything else. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never published it on my blog. It’s something of an interesting piece for me that part of me really likes and part of me really doesn’t. It’s an evolution for sure moving forward with idea and title of “The Ghost of You”.

What really separates the two of them is the theme, One is more of a regret of a broken relationship and the other the mourning of a lost loved one. There are aspects of both that I really like and both have stanzas and lines that I really honestly love. The first stanza of the above poem and this stanza from the linked poem “I swear I see you dancing/In the fire you’re enchanting/Floating up above the flames/where only memories remain/ I feel really nail some of what I was aiming for. A lot of the times I really write with a certain image or idea in mind and let it flow from there. Sometimes it’s even a line that really drives me to write something as in the case of some of my poems (Ashes and Embers, Willows and Reeds). Overall I’m happy with these two poems and how they ended up working out.

So why did I title both of them so similarly and confusingly? I wish I knew obviously smoke plays a very heavy theme in both of them, also a very heavy part of the poems and their settings. There are a few themes that push themselves through in my writing often and honestly a few settings. Smoke, the sea, and rain are all things that make frequent appearances. My muse is pretty apparent in that regard I suppose. 

Which now brings us to the current poem that I have titled “The Ghost of You” and is what I now feel is the definitive version of the poem that holds the title. I have a hard time really talking a lot about how I feel about this one because I wrote it so recently. But the theme I really feel like nails down the title. The idea of being haunted by the memory of an old lover, one who has passed on and one who you still love really seems to hit the nail on the head. I had talked with someone recently who had lost a wife at young age and remarried sometime later. He talked about how he never really got over her and how he still loved her but also deeply loved his current wife. It was a conversation in passing with someone I’ll never see again. Those kind of conversations happen at times in my field.  From a creative standpoint there are parts I’m fond of and I don’t really feel like I need to edit very much. I’ve as of this writing not shown it to anyone so I don’t know how it will be received going forward (today is 3-3-17 @ 0219) so we shall see. Until next time my friends

I’m willing to let it all go, So long as the words flow Joshua

[failure-never-blogs]

And there are times I think I'm dreaming I can't hear past the sirens that are singing Willing me to crash on some lonesome shore But I wish I was somewhere I've never been before There's a war brooding beneath my skull One that threatens to swallow me whole Between what I want and what it is I need Between my head and my wandering feet My heart's in the planes flying over head And I swear my foot's made of lead Longing for a feeling that I've never known Because now I'm feeling so overgrown #neworleans #downtown #nola #skyline #rain #dreams #poet #poem #poetry #overgrown #nightsky #nightshift (at New Orleans, Louisiana)

[failure-never-blogs]

I'm floating lost in space Floating trying to find my place Lost somewhere in your orbit Trying to find where it is I fit And sitting inside the skyline I know somehow this will be fine As I breathe in the cool night air I know that you're right there #poetry #poem #shortpoem #neworleans #skyline #Nola #fall #dream (at New Orleans, Louisiana)

[failure-never-blogs]

There's something in the air tonight Drifting through all the glowing lights Finding it's way to my atmosphere Begging me to hold it close and dear Thoughts And dreams of beauty Hoping that it's something I'll soon see As I drift away in this soothing melody I find myself lost in your memory #poem #poetry #shortpoem #poet #nola #neworleans #downtown #night (at New Orleans, Louisiana)

[failure-never-blogs]

There's something in this dying light Lost in the chaos of coming night I can feel it inside of my lungs So many songs left unsung I can't see it in this brand new moon I can feel that its not in bloom I can't be sure of what it is I've found But I know I'll see it when it comes round So rest in the in the sun's fading rays I'm sure that this will all be okay Find comfort in the twilight's song Because it won't be here for long #poem #poetry #shortpoem #poet #nola #neworleans #Sunset #twilight #evening #nightfall #favoritetimeofday (at New Orleans, Louisiana)

[failure-never-blogs]

So many memories lost in smoke So thick that you can only choke Before much longer we lose ourselves Collecting dusts on oak shelves Now we rests in afternoon rain Hiding from our hidden shame But you can't erase the past Or the long shadows that it casts #shortpoem #poet #poetry #nola #neworleans #memories #art #rain #rainyday #smoke

[failure-never-blogs]

Ghosts in Smoke

I'm staring down in the embers You know I'll always remember Those beautiful hazel eyes Sitting there under a crystal sky

Now I can't believe you're gone And I'm sitting here on the lawn Feeding an ever hungry blaze While grey smoke fills my gaze

I swear I see you dancing In the fire you're enchanting Floating up above the flames Where only memories remain

The smoke stings my eyes Or is it the tears that never dry? Either way my vision is cloudy While the flame roars loudly

So I'll remember you in the smoke Echoes of the last you spoke Hang heavy in the night air Where only the ghosts dare

So I'll mourn you in the flame Though I'll never forget the pain Of love had and love lost You were worth the cost

[failure-never-blogs]

Smeared Black Ink

I should really have my books burned There are some secrets that shouldn’t be learned I can’t count the times I’ve changed my mind Or find feelings lost in the passing of time

Some ideas should never leave the ink Because doing this helps me think It helps me ease my soul Because anxiety swallows me whole

That’s why the words smear I’m running away from my fear Desperately writing out my thoughts Before I feel myself start to rot

I get lost in the rhythm of my mind Never really sure what I’ll find I’m just trying to hang on to hope That I’ll find a way to cope

Because trouble will find me And when it gets hard to see This helps me get it off my chest So maybe I can finally find rest

This is another one where I explore why I write and what I write. And the idea that some poems aren’t meant for anyone’s consumption sometimes they’re just there for my own benefit. I admit this poem is kinda self indulgent but I like it well enough and the ideas it represents are true. Smeared ink really does come from the fact that I wrote this poem in a hurry and if you were to read the original on paper you’ll see that I barely let the ink dry before moving to the next line. I wrote so quickly that it’s barely legible. Sometimes writing is like that and is a quick expression of emotion and other times it’s a slow crawl. I take what I can get from it.

[failure-never-blogs]

Bleeding Heart

Do you remember, Can you see? What it was that drove you from me? Because I’m sitting here lost in thought Sifting through the times we fought I can’t remember anything that would tell What it is that made our love hell

I sifted through paper and ink Nary a thing made me blink Every photo held your smile Even though now it feels so vile Everything seems sickeningly sweet I can’t shake the feeling of defeat

Was I too self absorbed? Lost in the muse’s hordes? I tend to lose myself in my art ‘Til it poisons my very heart But you’ve always loved my work Until it showed my deepening hurt

Either way I’m following your path Through walkways of wrath Tracing your every single step Picking up the pieces we left Something made us fall apart Something left you with a broken heart

I focus on your last words At Least the ones that I heard Sifting them for some meaning Anything to tell me your feelings It had to be something I’ve done That drove you to your father’s gun

And as they spread your ashes It feels like ten thousand lashes I can’t ignore all the stares And your mother’s angry glares Because I’ll never be free They’ll always blame me

I guess this letter isn’t for you Because I’ll be seeing you soon Maybe it’s to clear my thoughts To get them out before I rot I want the truth to be told Because this knife feels so cold

I loved you once and love you now I miss kissing your furrowed brow I never meant it to be this way I don’t know what to say But now it’s growing dark And the only thing bleeding isn’t my heart

This is one that I really struggled with whether I wanted to post. It’s still something I’m not super sure about it all honesty. It’s a dark subject and a difficult one to write about. 

It’s honestly not the first time I’ve broached suicide in a poem, one of my more popular poems ended with a character committing suicide. Honestly though that poem didn’t revolve around it “Nuclear Day” just kinda was in a dark world and it felt like an appropriate story ending. I’ll eventually edit that one and post it again but today is not that day. 

I ultimately decided to post this not because I’m suicidal or am dealing with anything in the above poem. I posted it because I feel like art shouldn’t be afraid to approach difficult subjects and if someone read this and felt a little less alone, or even just identified with it I think it might help. If this is something you struggle with please seek help. Call the national suicide prevention hotline at  1-800-273-8255 . 

I feel that ultimately this piece is just a flicker of a feeling I had, hopelessness, despair, loss, these feelings are something I can either dwell on or something I can write about and get work through. Writing helps me cope when I feel like I’m losing myself. If you struggle with depression and anxiety you’re not alone and it’s okay to feel some of the things you feel. There’s hope. There’s good in the world. 

[failure-never-blogs]

Charity

How long have I had this blood on my hands How long have I traveled the land? Trying to find my way home Running away from the throne

I’m staring at the limestone walls The one thing to survive the fall Surrounded by ten thousand ghosts Screaming for their former hosts

Every step I take is hindered By the sinful southern winters But I make my way through the doors Onto the stained concrete floors

Visions of all the years past Pass through my eyes far too fast My old bones can barely keep the pace While my thoughts constantly race

I make my way to the old stairs I used to take them in pairs, But now I can barely breathe As the wind whistles in the eaves

When I finally reach the roof I know I found our truth As the moon shines down on me I can’t believe what I see

In all the years it stands A monument for my hands “To all the souls saved and lost” “It was worth every costs”

The tears trace down my face I feel so lost in this place Where I was once a king Now it has a hollow ring

I’m surrounded by the dead And it’s gotten to my head My whole world is rotten And I’ve been forgotten

Now it’s just you and me Remembering things never to be seen I guess this is my new home Because like you, I stand alone

[failure-never-blogs]

The Chase

There’s something that brings me back To the winding garden paths Through flowers and sapling trees Under a golden canopy of leaves

There’s something in the autumn air You always swore it was there Deep in the heart of the garden Something to heal a heart that’s hardened

And this place seems to breathe Through the wind and through the leaves It feels like it’s speaking to me Willing me to wake up and see

I’m hunting here for the clues you left Before you went to find your rest You said I would follow you at the right time But I’ve never felt so blind

I’m sitting in your favorite place Overwhelmed by beauty and by grace And I slowly realize You made this for me To find my peace until I crossed the sea

As the sun sets over the land I feel something brush my hand A sparrow drops a key and a note And I suddenly find my hope

I listen to the song birds And soak in their words Savoring each and every line I know that I will find you in time

I have always loved the way Tolkien painted the pictures of the Elves leaving Middle Earth over the sea. It’s something that has stuck with me over the years and it’s something I’ve always tried to give a nod to in my work when I can. I don’t really feel like I’m inserting my work into his so much as I’m just paying tribute in my own way. That’s really the only “Story” note I have on this poem. It’s just a small glimpse into a bigger world, a small moment in a long chase before the end of their time in that world. 

On a creative process note I only lightly edited this one. I really really liked the original and it’s one of the few that I’ve not so much written as I just “breathed it out” it just happened. I had a mental picture of a garden and the poem told me the story. The only editing I did was to make certain things less wordy and flow better. I’m extremely happy with this one and I hope you the reader enjoyed it. 

Joshua

[failure-never-blogs]

Fading

I feel like I’m trapped My very soul feels sapped I can barely see in this haze I feel like I’m thinking in a maze

I don’t know these faces This isn’t a familiar place I feel so very far from home And I feel very much alone

I just want to close my eyes Be back under starry skies Not under these white lights Away from these ghosts I fight

Now I remember who I am My name, and where I am I came because I was sick My Doctor's name is Rick

I apologize to the poor nurse But my voice sounds perverse I can hardly breathe I just really want to leave

I awake with a sudden start They’re saying something about my heart But nothing is the same I’m washed over with sudden pain

I feel someone take my hand I’m floating above the land Someone says it will be okay As my eyes slowly start to fade

Joshua

The commentary for this post can be found in my latest blog post located directly below this post in my blog

[failure-never-blogs]

Of Me and my Muses.

Of Me and My Muses. (or why my work can be dark and depressing)

This started as pure thoughts on my latest poem Fading which I’ll address lower on in this post. It quickly morphed into something I felt was worth expanding on. In a side note I struggled mightily with posting this poem at all because it’s deeply personal but also because I’m not sure that it’s any good for that matter either. But anyway here it is. 

I felt it’s time I had this conversation with myself because I’m not really sure anyone else reads this. If by chance you are reading this understand this isn’t necessarily for your benefit. It’s not even for my benefit. It’s just kinda there. I hope you appreciate this for what it is my thoughts and musings on what I write and why I write it. Art is the window to a man’s soul. We all have weird relationships with who we are as a person and how that informs what we create and today I plan to dive into that and explore it with myself and whoever happens to read this.

I’ve done a lot of self reflecting recently about why I write and what makes me more likely to write. I tend to spend more time writing when I’m dealing with a lot of strong emotions but I don’t think that’s unique to anyone creative much less a writer. But it is a part of what drives me to write because I tend to use that time to process what I’m feeling and or dealing with. It informs me of what I’m going through and helps me work through whatever it is. Whether that’s depression, anger, sadness, joy, or contentment. I put it all out on paper and let it work itself out and I pick up the pieces later. Is this helpful? I tend to think so because I process things by thinking about them and dwelling on them for a time and usually writing something helps me figure out just what it is I’m dealing with.

Honestly that’s why a lot of my poetry especially takes on more of a darker and more sad tone. I use what I’m writing to work through a lot of things I deal with in life. Poems like “Quiet”, “The Line” and “Fading” (Fading being the reason I’m writing this blog post in the first place) deal with loss on a different level than most of my work does.

Quiet was written about being with a patient during her final hour and what that felt like for me and was informed even more in that with the anniversary of the death of my grandfather and the poem that I took a long time to work on helped me through that experience(s). It’s a deeply personal and difficult poem to talk about but one I feel is important on a number of different levels for me as a persona and a writer.

Fading was written about things that have been going on in my life as a nurse. I’ve lost several patients over the last year and learned of the death of a few more patients I call friends recently. Combine that with a few codes and you have a very emotional and broken Joshua. I in an effort to mourn went to the paper one morning. I spoke with a dear friend about the poem and loss. He’s right that we all mourn differently and express sorrow differently.  And that it’s healthy to grieve and move on. I guess for those two poems I mourned and grieved and dealt with the feeling of loss and sorrow the best way I could at the time. 

Maybe that kind of informs you of why it feels so hopeless and bleak. Because in those moments I stared death in the eyes and I lost a battle. I mean I stare death in the face every night I go to work and struggle with it in an attempt to push it back. I deal with the sickly and the dying all the time and I won’t lie and say it doesn’t affect me. It probably more than anything else impacts my writing style and subject matter. The other part of what primarily influences me is my struggle with depression and anxiety. It’s no real secret that I struggle with both of the mentioned things. And I use a lot of that struggle and the way it makes me feel when I write. 

I’ve been accused in the past (rightfully so) of being a depressing read. And honestly that’s true I had someone make the comment to me that every time they read my work they want to cry (beautifully dark and depressing I think was the wording used) and that it makes it difficult to want to read more of my work. I guess I’m not exactly proud of that but I am proud of it. One of the best compliments I ever received was from another writer friend of mine who shared the poem “Quiet” on facebook was and said this.“I’m not sure what he’ll make you feel but you’ll feel something” or something along those lines (I’m not going that far back in another man’s facebook feed). And that is what I aim for.

I want you the reader to feel something, anything. I want to make a connection with you on an emotional level with my writing. Whether that be an emotion, or even see something in the words that I’m using to paint the picture like I did on “Honeysuckle and Rain” (which I’ll explore shortly enough). I want to make that connection with you so you understand a little piece of me and what I see or feel or dream about. Some artists talk about wanting to change the world or leave a piece of them behind but for me it’s about connecting with someone and seeing the world differently. I want you to be changed when you are finished with what I write or create. I’m an emotional person and there have been poems, songs, paintings, movies, stories that leave a mark, impact me. I want to do the same thing.

Man that got heavy… Anyway there’s that…

As for the other types of poems I write, ones where I paint a picture with words and try to immerse you in a new world of my creation. “Honeysuckle and Rain” is still one of my favorite examples of this style of writing for me. I have a love of stories that is well known by pretty much everyone who knows me. I’ve been reading books and novels since I stopped being stubborn and learned how to read and pretty much since then I’ve wanted to tell stories and I love telling stories. Maybe that’s why I gravitate towards narrative heavy poems where I spend time building a world and describing the scenery. I’ve written several that are more about the set piece more than the history and I love doing it. With Honeysuckle and Rain I spend a lot of time really painting the picture of the garden and the emotions contained within it more than I do explaining the history of the characters or even the garden. I like the idea of creating something isolated in it’s own space and time. Something that’s lived in and we’re only getting a glimpse of. I want to give you enough of a description of something for you to picture it in your minds eye and experience the rest with me.

Another one I do well in this in I think is “From Dust” where I wanted to paint the picture of an abandoned conservatory/study in an old home. A place not touched for twenty years and now being explored by a lost lover. I love the idea of giving you enough information to get a feel for something but at the same time leaving the rest of the world up to you. “What caused this divide?” What happens next? These are all things I don’t have the answers for but want you to think about and answer for yourself.

I use a lot of poetry to explore narratives and worlds that I don’t really feel I have enough to really drive a story or don’t desire to really fully flesh out. Sometimes for that matter the idea of a poem just feels better to me. I’m better at poems and they come more naturally for me than writing a short story does for some reason. A lot of fictional work also shows this. I take something that I see a friend or even something that’s being explored in some work of art I’m consuming and use those emotions I’m experiencing to work through what I’m feeling or what I feel like. I’ve written a couple poems about the loss of a lover or a bad breakup. But those for the most part are not something I’ve personally been through. Something that I’ve seen others go through or something I saw in other art the greatly affected me and made me want to explore the emotions and feelings that it brought on. Really it’s just a way for me to explore emotions I have felt in a new and different story telling way.

Well I went and typed all of this and only really touched on two parts of my muse. There are others and other things that influence me. But honestly it would be kind of a boring discussion me talking about why the sea, fog, and my own personal hangups. Because to some degree those are just things (the first two) that intrigue me and to some degree frighten me and the other is just something I have to work through. Those aren’t nearly as interesting as explaining why some of my work can be depressing or dark. And sometimes I just write darker material. I write happier things as well but those tend to be more personal and not as fictional as what I tend to throw up online. There’s also the fact that I tend to write less when i’m happy because I tend to want to live in the moment and not spend the moment trying to write it all out. Maybe I should intentionally work on writing happier things and writing in more pleasant moments. Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough.

I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things.

I just know I have a weird relationship with my muses and what inspires me to write more. And I hope that maybe this gives you a bit more of a glimpse into what makes the writing happen and what drives me when I pick up a pen.

Yours truly

Joshua

[failure-never-blogs]

The Water’s Edge: The Pier

(Please see the commentary at the end for some explanation of this post)

The Water’s Edge: The Pier

She stood there, surrounded by the strange fog, it seemed to have a mind of it’s own from the way it swirled around her ankles. It all flowed from the pier at the edge of the dark lake, the moon cast it’s eerie glow all around her. Her steps were heavy and uneven, her breath labored and shallow. She seemed pulled by the fog without even an ounce of hesitation, resigned to her fate.

~

He called to her but she didn’t seem to hear him. She just kept walking towards the pier which seemed to call to her. Little did he know that it did…

~

All she could see was the gate and it’s tendrils of fog. They reached for her, pulling her and stealing her breath and voice. She just kept walking, what else did she have to do? All that she could hear was it’s voice. Low and slick, it seemed to drip with rage and malice. It called to her to itself, to join those who had already walked through. Though she tried to fight with every step she kept moving. Now the gate’s fog began playing back her life for her eyes. It was hazy as though through a waking dream or a fading memory

~

He yelled to her but she didn’t listen. His voice was growing hoarse as he grew more and more worried. She kept walking and he started to run. He had to stop her before she walked straight into the dark lake. He knew that no one could save her once she touched the water. All of a sudden he was thrown back. Looking up he saw what stood in his way… the creature looked at him with hate pouring from his yellow eyes. His high low gravelly voice told him to stay down or die. He got back up grabbing a handful or dirt…

~

Now she saw her mother, the women she lost at such a young age. She was barely five when she died. It had stolen the life from her father’s eyes.  But in this vision she was twisted. Her auburn hair was black and her green eyes red, dark circles surrounded those horrible eyes. She called to her daughter to join her… She was terrified but couldn’t stop her feet from moving. She was being drawn by something more powerful than her will…

~

He threw the soil at the creature's face and jumped at it. He only landed one blow before he was batted back down to earth. He rolled away from the incoming kick and grabbed a fallen limb…

~

Now the vision in the swirling gate changed again. A meadow from her childhood, Flowers of all types and colors, trees as green as could be imagined, the little creek flowed with water that was crystal clear. Now it too shifted, until all she saw was dust brown grass and gnarled burned stumps. What little water that flowed was reddish black. She tried hard to turn her gaze away but it remained stuck on the gate.

~

He jumped up swinging the limb as hard as he could. He heard it crack on the creature's arm; it growled in pain and instinctively flinched. He took the chance to jump at it again. He managed one clean hit and got a hand on one of it’s swords before being thrown off. He regained balance and tried to balance the large black crooked sword in enough time to block the blow from it’s twin. He glanced towards the lake and saw she only grew closer…

~

Now she saw her father, the man who turned to drinking to soothe the pain of the loss of his wife. He had never lashed out at his children he simply drank till he slept; One day not too long ago he didn’t wake up. But long gone was that man in this vision, Here he yelled and lashed out. He was beating his eldest son without mercy; the dark circles also encircled his now red eyes. He now looked at her and showed a twisted grin. His gnarled teeth gleaming grey. He beckoned to her. “come”...

~

He brought the blade around. It was far too heavy and he was no swordsman, but it was the only thing he had to keep her safe. It was easily parried by the monstrous Creature. It kicked him back and let loose a long and cruel laugh, “Give up boy” it bellowed, “You can’t save her, she’s ours now”. He just walked forward again fighting despair.

~

She felt her feet hit the wood of the pier and trembled, It wasn’t far now and the gate’s fogs began to swirl and change colors, the water around her began to boil and the steam joined the unnatural ether. A low moaning sound began to come from the gate and it showed her a beautiful woman.

~

He let loose a yell and charged one last time at the Creature. His sword smashed against the creature’s and the noise rang through the whole area, anger and adrenaline giving him more speed and power. The Creature was caught off guard but blocked the blows. He finally got an advantage and took the swing but found himself on the ground with a thick foot on his chest and blood running from his face, “Nice try young one” It laughed. “Now watch her walk into our world”.

~

The woman was gorgeous, everything about her was perfect. Her face was an unblemished white. Her hair a beautiful brown.  She gazed upon the women wondering what she was doing in the portal. Then it opened it’s eyes…

~

The Creature stood on him crushing him and forcing the air out of his lungs with it’s foot. His sword hand was also pinned to the ground by the creatures other foot. He had failed…

~

The eyes were black, dead cursed black. They were empty of all life and were terrifying. Now it opened it’s mouth and spoke, It’s voice was low and deep full of malice. “Welcome you poor soul, Welcome to the world you will never leave.” Now she made a noise, a scream escaped from her throat…

~

He heard her scream at the same time creature did, it turned his head in surprise. He saw his opportunity and took it. He reached and smashed his fist into the creature’s knee; it didn’t break it but weakened it enough for him to bring it down with a roll. It crashed down beside him as he rolled, and he brought his sword into it’s throat. He got up and ran towards the pier…

~

The women only laughed at her scream, “nothing can save you now dear. Surrender to us and walk into the water” she kept walking as the moans became louder and deeper, rising like a wave and crashing against her.  

~

The water seemed to glow with a color she had never seen and the women kept laughing, her laugh haunted her and it seemed to make the waters stir even more. Now the fog grabbed at her and her whole body stung at it’s touch. She was at the edge at had on foot over. The woman smiled her twisted smile and said “welcome child”.

But then something happened.

She felt the hand grab her and the world around her exploded. The woman’s laugh turned to an ear splitting scream and the waters roared around her, the fog and steam started to sporadically writhe as if it were in pain. She felt cold and her vision darkened as she fell…

~

He grabbed her around her waist and fell back with her; she had almost stepped off into the water where he would have lost her forever.  She was unconscious in his arms but she wasn’t in the water, pale and cold yes, but safe. With the last of his strength he carried her off the pier and collapsed holding her.

~

There they rested for a little while, he holding her tightly terrified to let her go for the fear she might walk to the water again. She breathing steadily but still unconscious. After some while a passerby found them, he shuddered when he realized where he was. They said these waters and the land around it was cursed and it seemed the man believed it when he ran back into the woods. Soon a group of people slowly emerged from the woods and carried the two of them away from the water’s edge. The sun started peaking over the trees to the west. Casting long shadows among the ancient pines and illuminating the grounds.

The man realized there was no blood or signs of a struggle, All the remained were the bruises and cuts that now decorated his body. He stood silently for a second before going to take her hand.

The woman looked back at the pier and shuddered. She felt cold creep up her limbs and her breath leave her body. Tears slowly rolled down her cheek as she half limped along the path back to her home hand in hand with her lover.

~

Hiding in the tall pines from across the lake a creature stood and watched. As tall as two men it stood silently watching his prey leave. It slowly turned away from the lake and whispered coldly “next time my love we will have what we need” and he strode silently through the deep forest looking for his next hunt. He had done this for ages and wouldn’t be discouraged by one escaped child. As he left fog filled in behind as he blended into the darkness. His time would come again soon.

Joshua Romack

Commentary

I feel like I should break my rule about putting my commentary at the end of a post for this one (but after looking at the length of this I won’t). The original document can be traced back several year ago to December 12, 2010 at 0530 AM (even years ago I was still a night owl apparently) and the last edit I made prior to the ones I’m publishing today were on April 5, 2011. So yeah this story is very old in terms of what I publish. I was originally very proud of this story when I first finished it. I sent it to several friends who enjoyed stories and such and got a very positive response from it. Then I just let it sit for a while never intending to do much with it in terms of further editing or publishing (I at the time only published poems on facebook via their “Notes” function) and moved on to other projects including more in the series I called “The Water’s Edge” more because I liked the idea of cursed lake(spoilers) than anything else about it. I actually did write a couple more stories in the series (I’m calling it that more out of spite to myself because it’s all really dumb and bad) but never felt the same about them. The second story felt forced and stilted to me (Daughter rescuing her father) and the third I never actually finished ( I don’t know what I was thinking or trying to do looking back), the only good thing to come out of it was the poem I set in the same world ( http://failure-never-blogs.tumblr.com/post/150012138849/mourning-sunrise ) that I liked okayish.

After that I was done with the stories and their world. I put them away in a folder in my computer and didn’t think about them for a couple months until a friend mentioned there was an arts competition in the town I was living in and that I should submit a story and a poem. I did it more as a throw away action to say I did it more than anything else and didn’t worry about it again (those were the last minute edits I made back in the day). Until I got an email telling me that I had won the competition. I was kinda shocked and looking back at it today after I rewrote the ending and did some more minor editing I’m even more shocked. It’s honestly not that great or even good in my own mind but apparently the judges liked it enough and my esteemed competitors also liked it after I read it at the awards ceremony. I’ve thought about releasing it for a while and I’ve had a few people show some interest in recently so I decided to do some more working on it and release it for the first time. So now that you’ve heard my thoughts on the history of the story let me talk about why I rewrote  the ending.

I rewrote the ending because quite frankly I suck at writing endings. I’m really bad at it even in poetry. I’m not exactly sure why that is. It should be easy enough to do. Just wrap up all the lose ends in a satisfying conclusion for the reader. (I’m really bad at all of those things). Okay so maybe that’s not an easy thing to do but it’s really hard for me to come up with something that’s satisfying for me let alone anyone else. Part of that maybe that I love to tell and hear stories and I don’t want them to ever end. Part of it may also just be that I don’t spend enough time writing stories to get good at it. I spend far more time writing poems (that usually tell stories) than I do writing short stories because it’s easier for me. I’m more gifted in poetry than I am in short stories. Anyway about the ending itself

The original ending just kinda ended on a sappy note and didn’t really set anything up or tie anything up. I think this one kinda leaves a lot to be desired and a lot open to the reader. What’s going on with the couple? Do they have issues that they need to work through? Was it all the creature’s fault? What about the lake and the creature? What happens next? I like the new ending I pulled out of my butt in fifteen minutes way more than the original which I won’t post but can send to you if you’re interest in what me six years ago thought worked.

Some more observations about this story.

I really suck at writing and describing action sequences. 20 year old me was even worse at this than I am now. I was way too proud of my work then. My descriptions seem to work pretty well but man I want to rewrite all the nightmare sequences but I won’t because I don’t want to completely ruin the ability to look back at this one day.

Over all I’m posting this so I guess I’m okay with it and don’t totally hate it. It’s an interesting look back at me for how I felt and what I wrote like 6 years ago and I’m really glad I’ve grown over the years. I’ve got a couple more stories I’m in the process of editing and rewriting parts of so they may make an appearance here one day soon. You never know.

How did this end up the length of one my blog posts?

Joshua Romack

[failure-never-blogs]

Mourning Sunrise

Mourning Sunrise

Rising over the placid lake The sun slowly wakes But here, I still stand Your final words in my hand

I’ve traveled for many days And I’m still in a shocked daze I retraced your final steps To a place of shallow breaths

Through the long black night I prayed that you weren’t right But the Fog haunts the shore I’ve never felt this lost before

I prayed the Ghost weren’t real I hoped the wounds would heal But your voice lost it’s tone And your eyes turned to stone

Then one day you were gone You left before the dawn Leaving me only a vague clue So I left to chase after you

Through the old gnarled trees Under the night’s cold breeze I followed your forlorn trail To what end, I couldn’t tell

Here I sit in haunting silence Among the Cold fog so dense Living in my greatest fear The day that you disappeared

I decided to republish this poem for a couple of reasons, primarily because a lot of the stuff I’ve been posting recently has been the kind of stuff I don’t like to post because it’s intensely personal and not that interesting unless you know me deeply as a person. And second because I’m editing a short story that takes place in the same world of fiction. That short story is actually one that won an award for me several years ago. hopefully I’ll have it up before too much longer. 

I called the series of stories and this poem “The Water’s Edge” and it was something I put a lot of effort into a while back. I look back at it with mixed feelings in all honesty. The first one is honestly pretty good even though I look back at it with a very critical and disdaining eye. It was something I wrote as an obviously young and inexperienced writer but it’s good. The rest I’m not super fond of because they are forced. Except this poem I feel it flows very very well and kinda ends with an open ending. I did very light editing to this before posting. 

As for why the idea of bodies of water captivate me I honestly have no clue whatsoever. I love the ocean and large bodies of water and they have always fascinated me. Maybe it’s the idea of the unknown and the attraction to make up things and stories because it’s unknown. Regardless of why that is I’ve noticed a lot of my work contains large bodies of water as set pieces and backgrounds since I’ve been reviewing my poetry and stories. anyway hope you guys enjoyed this. 

Joshua