Be the game

Be the game you want to play.
Life is a beautiful thing,
especially when we let it be.

-M. Taggart

book signing, question mark..

I was asked to do a book signing
in Kittery, Maine and in New Hampshire
near the lake region.

Now I’m sitting here smashing a beer
wondering what the hell I’m going to do.
I felt pure embarrassment when asked
to do something I’ve prayed for.
She even helped me with that-
to not feel embarrassed.
It was her book store and her idea.

It’s just one very short story.
Is THAT worth a book signing?
I’m nobody, who are you?
Thank you Emily, you are brilliant.
I’m a man who takes care of our son
every day, picks up toys, gets on
hands and knees to wash around
the toilet, and then finds cat vomit
in the cat dish. Wasn’t that nice of him.

I work during Gavin’s nap and I work
at night, to catch up on the work I couldn’t do
while I was cleaning, or picking up toys.
My days of flying around this country
Branding financial institutions are over.

Or, are they? I left that behind by choice.
Maybe I ought to do this. Sit in a book store
and talk with people who love to read and write.

Maybe I will.
Maybe I’ll bring whiskey.

-M. Taggart

 

poem-

It wasn’t the tree’s greatness in size
which made it remarkable
It was the sympathy in its eyes
shedding tears through its bark

-M. Taggart

I don’t remember writing this. I found it in my saved drafts with ‘eh’ written as the title.

It’s only a matter of time

The most difficult piece of writing I’ve completed sits safely in a digital file. One literary agent replied to me, “I can’t touch this.”

In my opinion, in time, I’ll be contacted by either a publisher, or an agent, wanting to see what words sit within that file. And it won’t be me chasing them.

When that happens, I’ll happily champion their strength.

Cheers everyone.

Matt

-And who knows. Maybe the publisher who just published my short story ‘Screaming Hills’ will be the first to ask about it.

 

poem-

Yourself is you
until you aren’t.
I try and explain-
They don’t listen
and I’m fine with
that while listening
to them speak
about how much
they are, until finally
I say I know they aren’t.

-M. Taggart

poem-

I don’t know what’s more authentic.
Fields of hay dancing in the summer wind
Or the images I see when I close my eyes-
From the tops of rain drops,
thank you for this..

-M. Taggart

poem-

If I had one minute to live

I’d look in the mirror

And watch

 

-M. Taggart

poem-

It hurt to try and open it.
So, I did what I’ve always done
and went to a pub to read a book.
Only this time, I was in the book.
The bar was full so I stood in the corner
and ordered a dark beer.
The noise from the many conversations
faded, as they always do when I read,
but when I touched the book it felt electric.
“Here I am,” I thought. “About to read my own story.”
But I couldn’t do it. I opened the book to page 62.
Hell, I even took a picture.
But I couldn’t read my short story.
I couldn’t even get beyond the second line.
I’m not sure why. I don’t know what happened.
I’ll most likely read all the others and never read mine.

-M. Taggart

 

And Honest Rapport –

I write what I know. I’ve learned that I enjoy people who don’t tell about what they don’t know. So, it turn, I write what I know while avoiding what little I know not about. Somewhere in there lives a story. Not long ago I watched a man run over a blank spot in the snow which happened to be the artesian well. The electrical cord was cut cleanly enough. The man told me, “I don’t know a thing about how to fix this. But, I know a man who does.” He and I then shared a whiskey on his bar. The bar happened to reside in the house I grew up in and the man happens to be my mother’s husband. How little we know is not the measure of us. Not any of us. It’s the little we know that we are honest about that will be remembered.

My Passion

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” E. Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. 

In my opinion, This is great writing.

Every word put into place for a purpose. Every dot. Recently I was asked who has given me the best advice on how to write. I didn’t answer.. because a dead man did, and I never knew him.

Matt