It is our pleasure to present to you this week's feature, Mike Finley. I'm just getting to know Mike through facebook and as time permits, becoming more familiar with his writing through his website. I was delighted and flattered to be introduced to his writing through his submissions to the site.
If you look around, you will find Mike is a prolific and accomplished author who wears many hats. He has held the title of poet, writer, ghostwriter, web writer, memoirist, humorist, columnist, reporter, editor, writing coach, etc... He is the recipient of many awards, one of which is the Pushcart Prize for Writing, Pushcart Press, 1985.
We think you will be pleased with his offerings this week as well as delightfully entertained.
Welcome to *Mnemosyne*, Mike! It is our honor to have you as a feature this week.
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This is just to say
I bought the most beautiful cards
On my trip with Rachel
Pictures of the Roman theater
And the lighthouse in the proud harbor
But I was only gone three weeks
And the first week I was too confused
And the second week I never saw the Poste
And the third week I thought, hell
I'll beat the postcards home
One day I saw in the rearview mirror
The ancient city of Carcassone
Squatting on a hilltop like a soft turban
My eyes beheld the glory
Thinking of you
Artwork and Poetry © Mike Finley
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Where does inspiration come from?
Let me answer this very practically. You seldom “feel” inspiration. Writing is about putting yourself in harm's way. You commit to the idea, not having squat to start with. No ideas. No muse. No nuthin.
First drafts suck. You have to forgive them for doing this. I believe the “inspiration” often takes flight when you are immersed in 2nd and 3rd draft stages. This is when you enter flow state, and great things happen. And you don't even know it then. It is like waking up, and all your work has been done overnight.
But the trick is to get to these later drafts. That means humility… looking at dumb chickenscrawls… pretentious starts… hi-falutin stupidity.
Be patient. There is a pony in the poop. Work it, and let it work you.
And every now and then, wad something up and throw it away. Your posthumous library will thank you.