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January, 2008

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IN One Year And Out T'Other
A half-decade of assessment, acclaimation, ascent
By  Jennifer Edelson

ive years ago this month, December found me busy stock-piling canned food and water; preparations for possible impending havoc and doom (otherwise known as the end of the world) much to my husband's chagrin. And now I'm here. Celebrating the end of 2005, a still semi-functioning global society and IN's first year with you.

Yes, a brand new sparkling second volume of IN is just around the corner.

Get out! Just yesterday, I turned over my first Bitter Quill to the inventive and always amusing Mssrs Rhodes and Jung, praying, as I did, they wouldn't laugh all the way to their incinerator. I tell you, every new December proves that time trucks well past the speed limit. Yesterday people, not a whole freaking year.

A long time ago, someone shared . . . well, actually lectured, that one day I'd grow up, and have kids, and realize everything my own parents told me growing up was true (and then I'd be sorry). And that made as little sense as December already being here. Grow up? Never. But of course that someone was right. I did "mature" and I do have kids and yes, I'm perpetually sorry. That how it works.

See time has a devious way of playing tricks on you.

So Happy Birthday "Inkwell Newswatch." Here's to hoping the next 12 months are as stimulating and thrill-filled. I'm ecstatic for you (but not so happy that asking my six-year-old to pick up his light saber for the gazillionth time, is actually more than just a little frustrating, and not, as I use to argue with my dad when I was younger, cute).

For me, as a columnist, the past 12 months, in a nutshell, were interesting. I wrote 12 highly (insert adjective)  columns, banking at times on being able to turn my neurosis into nifty little cautionary tales to pull me through. And I made friends with the most fascinating magazine editor and site manager and other writers any person could hope to encounter.

This year, personally, I turned 35, which was way worse than turning 30 by the way, and now convince myself daily that my life isn't really half through. I re-wrote a book I've already re-written 10 times, and this time, like last December, am finally sure it's ready for circulation.

This year, I traveled to California, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, New York and Pennsylvania. I saw Constitution Hall in Philadelphia, rode the Ferris Wheel on Santa Monica Pier, saw a movie at the oh-mi-god Galleria in the San Fernando Valley, enjoyed a play on Broadway, and in Santa Fe, sponged up a pretty darn good outdoor rendition of The Barber Of Seville. All of which gave me about a 100 good pages of writing material I'm just dying to use.

This year, I stuck to my gut and finally ditched a situation that was dangerously close to driving me crazy. And I received some pretty life-changing news. Time marched on, and I'm hyper-aware of it. Still, boy oh boy I am one lucky fruit.

The other thing about this new year, is that it sort of reminds me of all the things I promised to get done last year, and didn't. Of course some things just live on and on in infamy, never really meaning to become reality of any sort but the kind that nags at you.

Like the multitude of boxes that still need unpacking from my move 158 weeks past due. And yet others are bound for actuality. Like my new year's commitment to tackling new and broader creative adventures.

So. Hello 2006. Looking forward to whatever it is that catches my roll-with-it fancy. I just hope it doesn't require too much pushing uphill. At the moment, that and finally getting my book out, writing this column and starting a screenplay that's been burning my brain up all year will do.

After a full-calendar round of ups and downs, continuing to do what I love seems like the sweetest start and the best revenge against the few bees that made it into my bonnet last year.

Oh, and peace on earth would be nice too.

Good tidings and best wishes to IN, now going into its second round, and all its wonderful readers, writers, editors and columnists around the world. Happy holidays and the grandest of all New Years!

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Jennifer Edelson is a Minnesota attorney and legal writing professor. Her writing has appeared on all the finest refrigerators in the Twin Cities. Jennifer can be emailed at:

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© Freelance Writing Organization - International 1999-2049

IN This Issue
Creative Karma
Rejected! Now What?
Seven Deadly Sins
Seven Virtues
Essential Ingredients
The Last Quill
Done At Last!
Part III: It's A Fact
Part II: It's A Fact
Part I: It's A Fact

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Bald Ego
Mouse Over To Pause

Writer’s Block
The path to inspiration starts
Upon the trails we’ve known;
Each writer’s block is not a rock,
But just a stepping stone.

Poetry Is Not
Penned to the page
Waiting for us to admire.
It is only a lonely thought
Caught by tears on fire.

Silent Echoes
A quiet rhyme upon a page
Is what a poet gives;
Some gentle words whispered in trust
To see if memory lives.

Bard From Deadlines
What makes a poem finally work
Is not the time it takes;
It’s how the poet used the muse
To prophet from mistakes.

Be Mused
The art and craft of poetry
Are not so far apart;
The craft comes from the cunning,
The rest comes from the heart.

Fine Vintage
Don’t plant your poem on the page
As though you’re hanging drapes;
It’s shape and flow should come and grow
Like wild summer grapes.

Getting It Write
Writers write what they know best,
Their passions, fears, and dreams;
Writers rarely write about
What other call their “themes.”

Double Vision
A writer’s life is paradox,
It’s more than what it seems;
We write of our reality,
The one inside our dreams.

The echo of a promise,
The thunder of a sigh,
The music of a memory,
A child asking why.

Letter Perfect
Twenty six symbols arranged on a page
Can send a soul to heaven or torment it with rage,
Can free a fragile world or hold it in its net--
The power and the magic of the mighty alphabet.

The Write of Passage
The jump from writing just for fun
To getting paid for it
Begins when you first realize
You know you’ll never quit.

It is not the magic of his wings
That sets us free from our bond.
It is the muse within ourselves
That lets our words lift us beyond.

Photo Poet
Consider your mind the darkroom,
Consider your life the lens,
Consider your eye the camera
On whose focus the poem depends.

Rising Moon
A poem is a rising moon
Shining on the sea,
An afterglow of all we know,
Of all we hope to be.

Star Light
Writing a poem,
Reaching a star,
In making good art
We find who we are.

Spider Web
A poem is a spider web
Spun with words of wonder,
Woven lace held in place
By whispers made of thunder.

The final draft upon the screen,
At last my poem’s through;
A verse of only four short lines--
I rewrote twenty-two!

Read All Of Charles Ghigna's Poetry at

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