Larry Garland - not in Kansas any more . . .
 

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Larry Garland in Brief

There was a time I sought to be a poet/
Believing verse was in my soul, wanting out/
But to become a bard I had to intuit/
Poetry is my soul, winging about/

I’m a wordsmith. I’ve written or edited the words of leading CEOs and the reports of global companies destined for stockholders or regulators of the world’s largest financial institutions. The technical writing and editing are my advanced training. But, I’ve also authored nationally appearing poetry and short stories in print and online media. Still, when it comes right down to it, I’m just a Southern storyteller. Now, that’s where my heart is, and that’s what I'm all about.

Feb
6

written by Larry Garland
larrycloseup2jpg

GARLANDblog

 

 What follows are my Southern-tinged observations (a blog, if you will) on the world around me, largely in and about New York City—my personal Oz

 

THE JOURNEY

Artists can take black and white, divvy it up and parcel it out in shapes and shades of gray that paint the past, or just some rural scene—depicting times and places of easy and simple living. That has a real appeal. But there is something in some of us that demands more. Some enticer comes to call on us who urges his chosen few to know the nuances of color. He tells us to spread our wings, to search out the blush of life. And so we hunt for some magic font with fluid of rainbow colors. All are given a glimpse of the glory within a rainbow’s arc, yet few go on to eye that azure sky, to dare to dream and hope to fly over the rainbow—to seek, to find, to drink from fountains flowing there.

Late in the Middle Ages, many devout folk across Europe followed the custom of making a pilgrimage to a religious shrine. One such procession, from London to Canterbury, is now immortalized. Each pilgrim in that particular caravan took a turn at crafting a tale to help carry his or her companions (and now us) through the boredom and hardships of the long journey. Storyteller is who I am as a Southerner. My muse calls out to me imploring me to write—and calls me out when I do so less than eloquently. By making literate use of words as my tools, I strive to weave thoughts into baskets that can bear the weight of literary substance; baskets that will wait no longer to bare my baggage for all to see as I travel the Long Journey. Glean what you will as you inspect my luggage. I have no choice in the writing, but the choice is mine to share my words with you.  

Won’t you join me on the journey?

 

6 Responses to “”

  1. Taddea says:

    Nice work! I’ll have to do a cross post on this one ;)

  2. Crasty says:

    Hmm… I read blogs on a similar topic, but i never visited your blog. I added it to favorites and i’ll be your constant reader.

  3. Emily says:

    Wonderfull…

  4. K.Vidal says:

    Beautifully descriptively written! I will gladly join you on that journey!

  5. truly loved the article added to my favourites

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From One of My Book Manuscripts …

"Why pay large salaries to older, more experienced employees who may have lost their religious zeal when there is always a fresh market of beautiful, youthful men and women, novitiates cloaked in exuberance, who can be primed by use of just a few dollars to contribute an offering of long hours and weekends in their own search for the Holy Grail?"

… And Another selection From A Different Book to Come

It was more of a vibration right at the cusp of hearing than a definite sound. It possessed a unique tone that suggested human voices just out of range, as if those moaning morning presses had their own story to tell—if only man’s senses were a bit more acute.

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