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Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Write or Publish...or Both




Are you a writer? You are, you know? If you write most days, you are a writer. If you write poems to yourself, you're a writer. If you write lyrics to songs no one hears but you and your closest friends, you're a writer. If you write short stories, personal essays, big books, little books, manuscripts unread, posts in your journal—you are a writer. And you can call yourself that proudly. 

It's the next step that makes you a professional. 

Writing is one thing. Publishing—in any form—is another. When a writer publishes—self-publishes, posts an original poem on Facebook, or has one of the Big-Five sign you to a contract, you are immediately compromising. You are adjusting and reworking and editing for an audience. And if you get paid, in any form, you can call yourself a professional writer. But I don't want to confuse the profession with the obsession, if you wish to label it that. Maybe that's too tough a word. (It rhymes with profession, so it seems good to use.) Still, writing as a profession is different than writing because it's a form of expression. Yes, some writers do both beautifully. Many of the greats had and have this dual spectrum. Still, as a writer—and you are one—you must decide what category you best fit into. 

It's okay to be in any one, or both, or have the desire for one or both. But the sooner you decide what kind of writing life you want to lead, the better writer you'll be. And, the more confidence you'll build. 



On July 20 at 7pm at the American Writers Museum in Chicago, I will be conducting a workshop on how to get your writing out into the world...how to get your writing published. That can mean a lot of things and the kind of writing you do and the kind of writer you are will help shape your publishing goals. What do you want to accomplish? What is the next step for you? I will touch on this and all the practical steps for getting your work out there. We'll discuss your writing, self-publishing, traditional publishing, and hybrid publishing. We'll talk about editors and agents and how and when to submit your work. There are a lot of places for your writing these days, more than ever before. 

 American Writer Museum, courtesy CBS2

Let's figure it out together what kind of writer you want to be, set some goals, and develop practical steps to move forward. You can sign up HERE. The American Writers Museum is a great space and I promise to make it worth your time.

Let's get your work out to the world. 

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Havana Dog Days


"For centuries, Cuba's greatest asset has been its people."—Pico Iyer

Havana is the home of the street dog. They can be found most especially along the cobblestone walkways near the Plaza Vieja. The dogs, in a symbolic way, are the soul of Cuba, a living creature seeking companionship and a place to live in peace, a place to call home. The street dog is as much Havana as the 1959 Chevy.

Credt: David W. Berner Instagram: @davidwberner

One night on a recent five-day trip to Cuba with my two sons, we sat in the late hours in the patio not far from the Plaza de San Francisco with the ancient statue of St. Francis of Assisi just down the walkway. A smallish, dirty-white, short-haired dog, curled up under our feet. He did not beg for food; he did not lean in, hoping to be scratched about the ear. The dog simply wanted to be near and he stayed with us until we left for our hotel under the steamy light of street lamps in the early morning hours. As we walked in one direction and the dog in the other, I remembered an old lesson from elementary catechism: St. Francis was the patron saint of animals, believing that all creatures are our brothers.

https://www.instagram.com/caseyberner/
Credit: casey berner Instagram: @caseyberner

Earlier in the day, a number of Cubans, certain we were Americans, had been intent on discovering from which U.S. city we had traveled. They asked about Chicago and the Cubs. Did we dislike Trump as much as they did; did we love Obama as much as they did? One young man, after asking how long we would be in his country, pleaded with us. "Please stay," he said. "You are from USA. Stay." He, like the street dog, seemed to want to be close to something more hopeful.

Cuba has changed and is changing. You see it everywhere. This beautiful country lost in time is both enchanting and exasperating, and as it stretches out from its isolation, shifting ever-so-slowly, it seeks hope, hope that something, someone will be its savior. Its people are proud of the revolutions—the three against Spain to gain its independence and even the one led by Fidel Castro against a right-wing, authoritarian government despite its lost idealism—and they are quick to find goodness in Che Guevara, the country's omnipresent spirit. But the people are keenly aware the idealism born in these conflicts was never fully realized. Because of this Cuba is still reaching for something else, curling up under the feet of the world, waiting to be delivered to the rest of us. 

For several days, my sons and I immersed ourselves in cigars and rum, silky black beans and sweet plantains, the sights of strikingly beautiful women, giant ceiba trees, royal palms, and the taste of sugar cane. We walked in Hemingway's footsteps and drank the liquor he drank. But we left remembering the street dogs and the hearts of the Cuban people passionately beating for more.

Credt: David W. Berner Instagram: @davidwberner