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| xxx xxxDear Success Seeker, xxxThe following writer has been kind enough to share his stories with us. xxxIf you would like
to contribute your story and photo to me, email them to: xxxThank you. xxxSal Buttaci
I take delight in telling folks that I am an obsessive-compulsive writer. I cannot stop, though I have never really given serious thought to doing so. It's an addiction I hold onto with the tenacity of a bulldog. I indulge daily. I keep a small pocket notepad which I eventually fill with tidbits of new vocabulary, first lines for a later poem, a plot for a story, overheard snips of dialogue. A voracious reader of writing-craft books and articles, I study poetic forms and try them out by writing them into my poetry. I belong to several poetry groups where I give and receive constructive criticism. As a teacher I conducted many workshops on writing and given many poetry readings in various venues. Besides having had my work published in many publications here and abroad, I've written a few books, mostly poetry, (See http://www.geocities.com/sambpoet/) and I am currently editing a novel I wrote in November 2008 entitled Carmelu the Sicilian. Writing has been my lifetime companion. It has been my shield and my armor against life's sorrows and heartaches. It has helped me accept the loss of loved ones whom I keep alive in my writings. It has allowed me to write love poems to Sharon my wife and best friend. In fact, it's become a tradition of mine to write a book of them for each important occasion we share: Valentine's Day, her September 4th birthday, our October 26th anniversary, and Christmas. The best of those love poems written in our first ten years together I included in my book A Dusting of Star Fall: Love Poems (Allahasbad, India: Cyber-wit Publications, 2006). My dream remains strong: to continue writing for the rest of my life. At 67, I believe I am using my time wisely by writing all I can manage each day. Next to my wife there is nothing I love more! xxcTo us, xxxWrite-Intention |
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I liked stickball better when I was nine,
but a poem I wrote to my mother on Mother's Day sealed my
fate. My parents would not let me continue aspiring to be
Brooklyn's Ace Stickballer of All Time. Their dream for
me became my own: to spend the rest of my life writing
poems, stories, plays, articles, shopping lists, gift
lists. Well, I think you know what I mean. Papa and Mama
were my greatest encouragers and fans. Even today, at 95
years old, my mother still wants to read what I've
written lately. I like this poem. You still can write!
(As if with time that gift God gave me would suddenly
disappear!)