Canadian writers speak out on Bill C-32

Canadian writers and creative people (that includes photographers or anyone whose intellectual property is able to be photocopied by educational institutions): if you haven't heard about Bill C-32 and how it might affect you, take a look at this video put together by the Writers' Union of Canada:



I'm a writer in my day and evening jobs. I've been a writer for as long as I can remember. And while the actual writing itself doesn't make up most of my income because I'm an in-house staff, for thousands of writers and creators across the country, it does. And theirs isn't a glamorous job - they depend on income not only from book sales or magazine contracts, but also from things like the income they receive when universities, schools and other educational institutions copy their work.

If Bill C-32 allows educational institutions to copy these materials free of charge, it means that these creators (and me) will have to subsist on just that much less.

Copyright exists to protect our roles as creators. Let's make sure it continues to do that. Please help ensure that the voices of Canada's creators are heard, and spread the word.

~ Ceebie

Sunday Scribblings: Guidance

As this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is "guidance," I was hoping to seek guidance from the group on this poem I wrote last week. It came to me at around 4am and I banged it out, and personally I've felt like it just came together, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it. I've also been struggling with the title, so any guidance would be appreciated. Thanks!

Untitled

the thing about poetry is,
once it finds you, it is very hard to let it go

suddenly it is everywhere
in the gush of a blueberry
running hot and purple on your tongue
when all you wanted was pancakes on a quiet morning

it is there at a street corner
in the slant of light through buildings,
the sheen of a puddle,
tugging at your sleeve as you wait for the light to change
it wants to dance a slow tango with you across Quinpool Rd
toying with you
till you want to share it with strangers

in the darkness of 4am
suddenly poetry is there with you in the room
there in the hum of words in the corner behind your right eye
roll them around in your mind like a marble
hear them like a new song played over and over again
can almost taste them, their metallic twinge
poetry is the imp at the bottom of the bed that takes hold of your blanket
tugging at the corner
there in the feverish warmth of the pillow that you flip over and over
searching for a cool spot to rest your cheek on
then when at last you cannot take it anymore
throw open the laptop
its quiet glow on your knuckles, your eyelashes
bang on the keys
words creeping black across the snowy wilderness of an empty page
hoping to stay the rush of words in your head
release the torrent behind your eyes
then

silence

for awhile...

because poetry knows that you'll be back

~ Ceebie