Good Day to you! While I prepare some Shuswap Lake photos for you and regain my focus, perhaps you are needing something to read. This is Crescendo of a Byline, also published on my website at http://www.shuswaplakephotos.ca/about.html
THE CRESCENDO OF A BYLINE
BY Dawn Kellie
You must write, as a great painter paints. “To write” is a gift, an acquired skill or innate talent, but the writer must write. The stories and old ways of all, must be told and they must begin on paper, so the reader will not be hopelessly lost. All those fine tastes seeking literary satisfaction denied, because we, the scribe, have not followed our dream to write, our need, and inner most drive.
But, if by way of words, we can reach and inspire the reader, we have succeeded in what comes natural to us. As natural as Lorquin’s Admirals orange wing tips. Whether the written words are for information, encouragement, or opinions to be pondered, they must touch the heart of the readers. And also, obtaining self-sustaining employment and income by reader enjoyment shall be put to the test, a change in livelihood. To sell your product, to arrange and submit a product of words, quite strange to some, but always changing and au courant to suit the demand. But in this product must be the basis of a byline and power of emotion, your emotion.
Will it entertain your intellectual reading requirements, so many different styles and choices. So writer, you are encouraged to “write your book Anne Marie” share with us your views, reasons and whys. We will keep them in memoriam as others hold semantics, etymology and linguistics.
So important are the words, if they affect one person, the result needs to be of maximum benefit. And so I tease my learned friend John, that I should not translate the classic Latin words that have him so curious, as they are, only for those of us in the know. Words, from a lifetime ago and they must not stop here, write farther and further, vast as the Great Plains. Compile, arrange and preserve the words, as there are new ones to come with the planets. Tradition they call it, and those whom the words call, in one form or another, must do our best to ensure the words will be felt on paper, just like the way it all started. What is it all about and why do we need to write?
To leave a reoccurring smile, with someone far away, or a distant letter received from 3541 kilometers south from a dear friend. From in your very state, and from in your very city, as only months ago our paths crossed and Edmond Oklahoma U.S.A. was a first destination ever. City of hospitality and welcoming co-incidence. Words of welcome and understanding with beckoning Interstate #35, Oklahoma sunsets, sunsets of words.
The words will be relentless, as you may well know by now, they stir inquietude, as lightning seeking strikes. Write them down writer, that is why you hold them, so they may be shared and meaningful in life, upholding the byline. A positive contribution, right there inside waiting to be freed on paper, like colorful butterflies fluttering into the shadows of sunset. And the words flow faster, only than tears. The crescendo of a byline.
Alphabetum perfection, interesting, exciting and quenching, the essence of eccentric order and verbal presentation to the reader. Can you make them want more writer? Can you give them a place into which they may retreat into your work? Into your world of sylvan retreat for a time, in a comfortable place of rest to enjoy a well written adventure or heart wrenching epic of lost love found, with your silent audience crying out for Lochinvar. Oh, the pain of heart.
The summer moods, fine calligraphy and azure eyes drawn upon the words to express where the pictographs left off and what needs to begin, so there is no mistake, misunderstanding nor moraine to hinder the imagination and the sweet breeze of phonetics with 12 point pica. Authors and journalists your profession, officium calls you now, write what you need to, verbatim et literatim.
This is your time to be heard, a wisp of the quill et nom de plume; and the readers? They are waiting. Provide sustenance of cultured vocabulary, to keep them enchanted, entertained and questioning, always wanting to hear more and know why. Arise their curiosity, the world is theirs to know, all they have to do is to read it. So therefore, we must write it. Written from the heart, your job completed to the absolute best of your ability, releasing the energy so others may share in the written vertigo hypothesis, clepsydra of words deriving from time and manner. Once upon a time, once in a lifetime, once and forever with the knight errant and quixotic words with the honor of diction, dialogue and dieresis direction.
Words of a new and old, write them down in their true dimension and verso. Your footprint throughout life and writing career, right there on paper in print waxing for all to read. Give them purpose and life, history and humor, rain clouds under a frantic sky. Sign your name. It is what you love to do, write while you have it in your heart. There shall be no regret for not having penned. Whether liked or disliked neither matters, only is the principal of the work. Was it completed, submitted, open to debate, another pinion, tiramisus index and inkprint dessert. How can you not want more? The new is yet to come, let it fill the pages, your pages, your byline shelter, your byline. The shedded pupa. More?
Words of majestic tornado proportion and the smiles of Apelles for Janis and her studio of art and the friendship shared of a wild young life and forgiven erratum. Can you feel the words, gravitation phases of unheard combinations of vocabular eloquence, Mykonian dreams and beckons from Atlantis. They are calling you, relentless to be freed, as is a man of his word, upon and word for word. Thrilling and daring, brave and bold, strong and true, as an unspoken promise given and the agonizes of kept.
Farther and further, future and forever, the words shall always be used. Sunny blue skies, thunderous storms in the Shuswap with waterspouts of rainbow exhaust. There is more, many many more words, and so they need to be written down writer. Then perhaps my ways will not seem so strange when you understand my words and the way I have to do things. It is time. The words need to be drawn forward and step two is now accomplished, cobblestones laid, lexicon upon escritoire. I am ready to begin, reagents aware and gnomon to the north.
A vellum finish of Tyrian purple and an inner quest to satisfy the eclectic power of “scribere” to write. The vespertine woes of Echo are still heard through the new young orchard, green fields thrive, so much to be written, so much to be read in consonance and open to the world. With yellow orchids and Columbia lilies, the words blend in and smooth out on the quality bond and brightness, are they worthy of audience or discussion? A beginning point or as the lonely loon himself with his eerie call, there are expectations to be met. Impatience for the first accepted byline and the very essence in print, a cure for the craving, written aria bubbling from a Pierian Spring.
What will you do instead writer? Is there a better profession for you? What else could take hold of your heart like that and grasp so tight? From that day of recognition in the mirror, all you have ever wanted to do, was to write. So as you now, finally in life, give it the attention demanded, direct address of cyclonic calculation, with pieces falling into spinning order. The words will take their balance and the mind’s eye will show you the where and how, remember when? You know who.
A date to be kept, notes to be read and the pen and paper are always close by. The picture no longer needs words, but we must keep the communication going, that is our duty, writer. The form and matter is by choice, but it is up to us to be a part of the entire. And the snow white rabbit hopped over the ice covered lake, as I was just wondering about Alice. Funny how those little things happen, and so the need for them to be written down, is so ever apparent, they must be written. A time of telling. I let him read it, will you please? There is more if you can listen in the whispers, and the glows of Photinus ardens.
Just words? So then how do you describe the feeling, don’t say it, write it. That is your key, your answer that you have been searching for, all this time, and you always knew. Just write it down. It will not all be for nothing. Start there, now, because, it’s time. Your time. We need to hear your part. Your encouragement and character of metonymy and metre formed over time and age.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was a sad girl, for reasons not dealt with until tomorrow. And the rockery awaits, as carefully placed words settle. He is home, I can hear him while the flowers bloom of roseate. I shall speak only words to him, he hast not the luxury of literacy, but I know he hears the words. They must be written, so he may be read to, in the cool shady corner of my garden. He listens and he sees. And he sings, the young prince himself. One kiss, one day.
Page after page, publish and print, practice and patience. I still cannot get past that first tear, every day, for a long time now. And the stories are told one day, happily ever after for a celebrated byline with friends. Then the girls shall go to beaches with golden Aegean sand between our toes and perhaps write a little from poolside. The bold and bright umbrella against the characteristic white cube dwellings and dazzling seas, I could write you? Join us won‘t you? How can we help?
It is in the words, they will be so powerful in the years to come, they will go beyond all known boundaries. The truth and the trust of documented proof, fact or fiction, clearly labeled, should be available for all to read. When the great power goes out, there is still nothing like a cup of coffee now cigarette free and freedom from, and a good book or short article of a slightly odd point of view, or even perhaps, for your pleasure.
I don’t know yet, I’ve had no response from you, so I question my methods and mania. But I will try, “give it a whirl” as they say. Put it on paper, tantara and tangrams, absolutely fabulous words, with a peppery attitude and dialing complete. Ursa Major circles near, as another Twin passes by, with celestial company of three.
There is nothing else ever, that would take you to all ends of the universe on its own grace. The chance of a blue moon and unspoken love being told, written for the first time. Written by you. Deny yourself no more writer, put the words on paper. That is the only way they will ever know you. By your byline, writer, by your byline. And the knight in the shining armor rides home through the green fields and tall trees. For ever and happily ever after. A crescendo of love.
The End.
