So I said that I was going to have a book called Fragmented Prose done by the 30th of October. Nope. It’s not going to be done. I’m not placing it on the back burner like I did my novels, which I had to, because it took almost three years to write those and I needed a good six months off before I can go back to them with fresh eyes; I’m just making sure these books are as good as they can be. Fragmented, will be roughly 100 pages, and out very soon. The other project is a more abstract of a poetic book, about the land I walk and also the mind I wander alone within, separated by objective observations in part one, and subjective manipulations in part two. This book will come out the same day as Fragmented Prose. I’m editing both right now. I just need more time. I’m going to include a free download of the book with purchase of the physical copy, which will also come with a special app that will have live readings and videos of me performing some of the sections of the books. There will be pictures of where inspiration was found and music that goes along with the writing process. I’m doing all layout and formatting and cover designs, and even creating new types of fonts from combining the fonts of the old typewriters that I’ve been buying at thrift stores and garage sales the past year.
The two books (out in less than three weeks, maybe sooner) will cost about 10 for paperback and 18 for hardcover. I’m still looking into the best way to publish them. I want to print them locally. My theory is that the writer should know who makes the paper and who put the books together. Below is another small section from the 2nd book. When the books are done all news and where to buy them will be placed on the West Vine Press page.
Soon I can get back to my novels, but after this project I’m editing a new poetry collection for somebody else, which will be the first West Vine Press book that has not been written by me. Writing has been difficult, I’m still growing, and will never stop, but editing I feel comes with age, to actually step out of the self and see that this person and their words are as alive as you are, and what you read is not your voice, but theirs. Editing for me, was something I haven’t been ready for until recently. I don’t know, something happened, and I now feel more than just words when I read other people’s writing, and for some reason, I think this is a big part of editing, of becoming an adult; a humanitarian is an aspect of good editing. Maybe this is all easy for everybody else, but for me, nobody told me, and it has just taken time. Thank you for reading.
Taken from Upcoming Collection by Andrew H. Kuharevicz, called:
Sleep Walking Under The Moon Soul of Lake Michigan
It’s, just…
Water sounds, night moans, police, enough. Brighter than you and silent with toes, slowly, working up to wake up, for the week. Time and hiss. Talk and sure. And I never really understand why people exist. Maybe, maybe none of this matters.
Rolling storm, my brain rolls with the hurricane, and turning on television I was hoping for, love. Eyes tired, and I slept, and another week, of enjoyment, of wandering, learning, maybe not. Only growing, your thoughts. Grown, nobody knows. One minute, and the next, and the last week, who was I then? Pens click. I forgot to brush my teeth last night. Bleeding, broken nail from World War Two stuck right below my elbow, as the wind eats my cells that never even had a chance anyway. I was a child? Who? The bugs transform nothingness into the guts of the Earth. Bleeding thoughts, so many thoughts, and who needs, any thoughts? Breaking-breaking-breaking, the chain of the madness, that the beach bums share. Inside of me, a fire. Inside of my mind, lost, a universe, where I’ve been, waiting. Calmly; reflect with new set of eyes. Bring back the words of relatives from distant and now dead lands. Hurt, cowards, and I see how to be, this, who, I, am, not. Politics, children. Believe, in the human. Goodness. Shooting stars. Burning, thoughts. And
Laugh. Ha. Cry. Why. Sing. Always. Sing. Always. Eyes. Reflect. Spirits. Flesh. Always. Sing. Always. Be. Always laugh, at, Time.
Adventures In American Writing 