Uprooted

The more I write, the more comfortable I am sharing my writing with others. Being a journalist-in-training and a blogger, it comes with the territory. Still, before people read my work, I am always nervous that my writing doesn’t resonate with readers. What if I’m an inherently bad writer and no one has the heart to tell me?

Writing non-fictional prose like articles or blog posts, I don’t think too hard about how much people appreciate my writing. That isn’t to say I don’t care if people do because of course I do, there just isn’t a use of fixating myself on being well-liked.

When I (attempt) to write fiction or writing that’s more stylized, I become a lot more protective of what I have created. Writing poetry I find is so deeply personal, that if someone dislikes the way I wrote a verse, it would feel as if they disliked a part of my emotions. That sounds odd and unnecessarily deep, but if I were to write a poem, it would be about personal experience or the piece would not be genuine.

Kyle Says: A Poem

Writing is such a diverse art form. One can report the news objectively and then write beautiful prose. I’m lucky to be a part of such a talented community of writers.

Speaking of which, Kyle is the author of our third guest post. Also a fellow journalism student, and now, a poet. Amazing.

Old Man With a Grey Beard

A long bearded man, who is well into his seventies, sits by himself in the corner of a dimly lit coffee shop. A newspaper is laid out in front of him. His lips move as he reads the words on the page. Occasionally his voice rises to a barely noticeable volume. After a moment he catches himself and his lips stop moving.

He takes a silver flask from the pocket of his trench coat and pours amber medicine into a disposable coffee cup.

He returns the flask to his pocket.

The old man takes a heavy swig of his liquor then wipes his beard with his forearm.

Outside the fall night is cool and dark.