Giving Myself Permission

Since I started The Voracious Bibliophile, I’ve pressured myself into writing longer pieces than the subject matter necessarily called for. Now that I’m more secure in myself as a blogger, I’m giving myself permission to write shorter posts when I want to, especially when it comes to reviews I write. There is nothing wrong with short-form reviews just as there’s nothing wrong with long-form reviews. Going forward, you’ll probably see a mix of the two on this site. Just know that no matter the length of the pieces I publish on here, you can come to The Voracious Bibliophile for authenticity and honesty. Thank you so much.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

Quote for the Day: March 25th, 2022

*Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls: A Memoir* by T Kira Madden

I can do things like that when I write—pluck any thread of want and weave a whole world.
T Kira Madden, Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls: A Memoir

Quote for the Day: November 4th, 2021

*Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life* by Anne Lamott

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

Poem for the Day: October 4th, 2021

For the young who want to by Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don’t have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.’s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else’s mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you’re certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

Today’s poem is taken from the collection Circles on the Water: Selected Poems of Marge Piercy, which was published in 1982 by Alfred A. Knopf.

I love love love Marge Piercy. I was first introduced to her work as a high school junior via her poem “Barbie Doll” and since then I’ve been delighted with each new discovery. I hope you love “For the young who want to” as much as I do.

Quote for the Day: October 2nd, 2021

If you don’t see the book you want on the shelf, write it.
Beverly Cleary

Haiku I-XVI Available on Wattpad

For those of you who enjoyed reading my haiku on here, all sixteen of them are now available in one place on Wattpad. Enjoy!

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter and Instagram @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

New Blog Series: Original Haiku

So, all of you who keep up with this blog know that I’ve started posting original poetry on here. I’ve been writing poetry for years and have even had a few pieces published, but it took a lot of soul-searching for me to just start dropping new work on here. That said, a few months ago I went through a period where I wrote a bunch of haiku. After reading through them, I decided I’d like to share them here. Here’s the first one. Please go easy on me.

Haiku I by Fred Slusher

Blood martyr sing-song 
Slow whistling tunes of bones 
Bring me a new war

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please follow, like, comment, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at thevoraciousbibliophile@yahoo.com or catch me on Twitter @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

Original Poem: bluster & melodrama

bluster & melodrama by Fred Slusher

You’re all bluster & melodrama 
Empire State of Eden’s 
Rejects, Mama 
You can still be a racist even though 
You voted for Obama (Twice)

And I take meds to be a little 
Less me in melancholia 
Debutante in repose, 
Rhinoplastied nose your dad 
Bought you in Santa Fe but 

I had to keep my ugly 
And my secrets and my sighs tucked
Like a melody on a dusty piano 
While you were in Reno 
Getting turnt & twisted on the boulevard of broken dreams 

You told me in aught three my 
Songs were poorly written but I kept 
Sparring with my demons & writ 
My lonesomeness into dust & made myself free

Original Poem: Holding Onto a Reason by Fred Slusher

This is the first time I’ve posted my own poetry on my blog so naturally I’m terrified. Here you go.

Holding Onto a Reason by Fred Slusher

i write memoirs of crushed rose petals and 

poetry aided by artificially 

-intelligent algorithms predicting 

what it is my thumbs want to say 

next but sometimes a different agenda

takes root. on an island of one, there is 

no need for a king or a dream because 

in the world of the self, there is only 

the now — no need for dreams or sleep or 

dreams or dreams or dreams or the sound of 

rain slapping the truth out of the earth. the 

closest i ever came to nirvana was the first 

time i saw lady gaga perform yoü and i 

bearing down on a baby grand in heels higher 

than heaven studded in leather and the 

glimmer of the stage lights brighter than 

broadway than all the stars in the sky. 

somethin’ ‘bout lonely nights and my lipstick 

on your face. i swam through a river of my own 

blood to wash up on another unforgiving 

shore. i clutched years like shards of glass 

in my clenched fists and decided to keep 

holding onto a reason.