Free Lecture: How to Publish Your Creative Writing in Literary Journals

Source: Free Lecture: How to Publish Your Creative Writing in Literary Journals

Free Lecture:
Submit, Publish, Repeat

How to Publish Your Creative Writing in Literary Journals

Join author and editor Emily Harstone for a one hour talk and Q&A session.

The topic: How to publish your creative writing in literary journals – so you can find readers, establish your reputation, and build a thriving career as a writer.

The lecture will air live on Thursday, March 31st at 1pm ET / 10am PT / 6pm BST.

By signing up, we will also let you know about future lectures, workshops, and opportunities from The Writer’s Workshop at Authors Publish.

Please sing me a lullaby, my sweet lady…


  Please sing me a lullaby, my sweet lady…

My lovely lady lay in sweet slumber and I whispered into her ear.

You are my morning blessing, my daytime kindness and my midnight cherish place.

She opened her eyes and she whispered, you loved me first and I shall always love you.

She brought her warm body closer and she asked. What do you need my Johnnie? I whispered, please sing me a lullaby,

my sweet lady. A lullaby of a love that last forever.

She smiled and she sang some pretty words to me.

“My dear teacher of love,

my morning caress,

my daytime glory,

my evening place of safety.

I loved you yesterday and I will love you tomorrow.

Once lonely life,

is now filled with laughter,

great travel and knowing.

Your love is near.

I love you like the caress of the morning warm sun on my…

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“Hearts awry
Wary ghostly grasp
Weary lonely gasp
Yet I can’t hold


The night is silence, old heart awry in sombre songs, barren sea memories and smitten kisses remembered.

The wary ghostly grasp the quiet night, the deadly echoes spring into my quiet mind.

Did I do enough?

Reaching the last tavern at the dead end road,

weary lonely gasp written into a private journal.

Did I find Kosinski ending? Hemingway last breathe?

Is the hush of silent, blessing or hell?

Yet I can’ hold on to yesterday,

I can’t enclasp today and I can’t stop tomorrow.

I wish I could cry tears like a waterfall,

releasing a million miles of the black light, the dark light.

Stand naked and fearless,

and I know.

Us men,

we killed the things we loved and we cannot die.

we learn too late,

the dead can’t rise and broken hearten lady…

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New Orleans, a lullaby for dear Allison…


New Orleans

A Poem byCoyote Poetry

" Memories, become a part of us. "

New Orleans…

(For my kindest muse. Dear Allison.)

I found you in the Jazz club dancing alone in a silky dress, closed eyes and moving bare feet. I watched you danced to the lonely jazz, your hips, legs and shoulders falling deep into the magic of the music. I observed you from a distance and I drank the Irish whiskey and I wrote to my journal. “Baby girl, dancing alone. Maybe sweet, maybe a lover, maybe the devil’s embrace. She knows, she needs only the soft jazz and men, were just in the way of her dreams.”

I order three fingers of Tequila and I looked into the Jazz club mirror. I told myself. Today you died in 2004, my friend in some shitty war and I drink alone. I raised the finger of tequila and I…

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The poet, the dancer and the artist…


The poet, the dancer and the artist.

A Story byCoyote Poetry

" The best days. Good friends and conversation. "

The poet, the dancer and the artist…

It was last warm days of Summer, the late August warm days were appreciated. Two men and one woman are drinking their coffee near the Port Austin Lake Huron boardwalk. For two months, the three would meet and discuss the daily activities and the coming days. They shared long conversation of what was and what could be? The artist Sheena asked Paul, the dancer. Will you seek work in the Fall or become more lazy and fatter? The poet Johnnie laughed at her words and he asked Paul. Is there racism against fat dancers? Sheena and Johnnie laughed as Paul gave them a sour look. Paul told them. Do you believe God had blessed you poets and artist with great beauty? Johnnie, you have…

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On the thread of a word…


On the thread of a word

A Poem by Coyote Poetry
"Talk softly, be kind. Love is tender and soft. Can be broken like a wing.)"         

                     On the thread of a word….

(Freedom is only the distance between the hunter and his prey.)
Bei Dao..

Just like a hurricane from hell.
You twisted my world from a lonely existence to a life
where I needed your caress.

You took me to a dark bedroom.
Lite many soft candles and
you slowly torn down walls of disappointment.

The voice of Leonard Cohen whispering sweet words of
“Dance me to the end of love.”
In the distance.

You were not my first lover,
you would not be my last.
But I held you close like you were my last breath.

The rain is pouring down softly and
we listen to the rain in a needed silence.

You rose from our…

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