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Kelly Tweeddale's Blog

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Invisible Ink.jpg
“The writer who maintains that he works without regard for the opinion of others is either a jackass or a pathological liar.” – Theodore Roethke For the last six months I’ve neglected my blog. Was it intentional? Perhaps. I started a blog as a way to move my writing from an occasional entry into a...
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I’m here to say that Invisible Girl has never been in better form.  She has confirmed that “out of sight, out of mind” is a true phenomenon that may lead to the coining of a new term – “insignificant other.” Perhaps it is a casualty of our dwindling attention spans, but more likely it is a...
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I've written about training for a marathon and no matter how I try, I struggle at pacing myself.  My body is geared to want to reach for the finish line.  Lately, I've been nursing a chronic injury, an athletic weakness, and pace has suddenly become an afterthought; a symptom. So in my...
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dandelion weed.jpg
Yesterday, I had a Laura Nyro lyric stuck in my head.   “I am a poet without a poem.” – From To a Child Today, I inadvertently stumbled upon a breathtaking piece of history.  In the 1920s and 30s, poet Edna St. Vincent Millay was our version of an American Idol.  She sold out 1600-...
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one cent.jpg
In my current year-long challenge to write and submit, I decided to experiment with a variety of online forums that require application and acceptance.  This is not a path to prosperity. For the most part, if upfront pay is offered it ranges between a whopping 1 to 1.5 cents per word and...
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At the beginning of the year I vowed that I was going to make a commitment to writing and to putting myself out in the real publishing world.  I made a goal of submitting an original piece, a query or synopsis to a publisher at least once a month.  My objective was to move from self-...
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boston marathon finish.jpg
I don’t even know where to begin.  As a three-time Boston Marathon finisher, I feel such outrage, sadness, despair and disbelief.  The only reason I wasn’t running Monday was due to last year’s record heat. It made it close to impossible to run a re-qualifying time.  It was a brutal...
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cinderella's slipper.jpg
This morning I woke up determined to write a poem.  Yesterday, I turned one year older and today I was determined to start anew.  My poem was going to begin, “Now that I am fifty-three, I shall . . . “ or perhaps it was “Now that I am fifty-three, I shall not . . . “  Instead, I...
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granite moss buttercup.jpg
We called it “The Mountain” when in fact it was nothing more than a hill; a hill nestled between a suburban housing development, a golf course and the elementary and middle school we attended. It acted as the sledding hill in the winter, an exploratory terrain for the boys with their newly minted...
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In honor of World Poetry Day and Malala's return to school. Surrounded by menthat refuse to see womenBlind to our power. (c) 2013 Kelly Tweeddale
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dare to dance.jpg
Last July I wrote a blog post on pain as I was preparing for the never-to-be-run 2012 NYC Marathon. I wrote about physical pain while simultaneously spinning precarious plates of emotional turmoil.  The writing was raw, but it ended with a suggestion that I adopt a personal anthem, something a...
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sails of rejection.jpg
I made a pact with myself at the beginning of the year that I would dedicate this year to moving from a writer with a tepid appetite for rejection to one that faces it and welcomes it with open arms.  It’s not that I have a tall pile of rejection slips to hide behind.  Rather, the thought...
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it's fine.jpg
When I first decided to take up running at the nubile age of 48, no one asked me what I was trying to prove.  Running a mile or so a week with incremental increases didn’t raise any eyebrows nor did it interfere with much of anything else except my own illusion of fitness.  Although I...
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On Thursday evenings I teach a graduate-level course for those seeking their Masters of Arts Leadership.  It is always a stressful traffic-filled commute from my workplace to campus, as well as having complications with another class using the classroom up until our official start time....
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Every once in awhile I wonder what it would feel like to live my life by putting everything in its proper place.  Junk mail in the garbage, bills to be paid in tidy file folders or Martha-Stewart-obsessed organizing bins, dirty clothes in the hamper, bath towels folded and stacked so that they...
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