Is that how you started in this country?


>but you got to start somehow. Think it carefully. Most famous writers starved (you would not like it for sure) and died in poverty. Help writer endeavor would provide you decent food and priceless experience, not to mention cash.
>
>>Help writer? Just shoot me first. That is about the furthest thing possible from creative writing.
>>
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>>>I have better advice: start it gradually. Firstly, move from programmimg to help writer profession, and then (after getting fired?) to poetry.
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>>>>My former colleague Jim Weil is a writer too. He showed me some poetry which in my opinion was excellent. You may want to contact him to get some advices of getting started. The hardest part is to get published, not writing itself.
>>>>
>>>>>I should probably find some writers' group to post this on but I trust the people here. This is more than a bunch of gearheads with a similar technical calling, as came out loud and clear a couple of weeks ago. It's a community in the best sense of the word. I want your honest feedback. Really. Don't be afraid to offend me if you don't like what I am posting. I would rather hear it up front than waste months going down the wrong path.
>>>>>
>>>>>So here goes. I have mentioned that I have considered a radical career change. I probably didn't mention that the career I have in mind is writing. This is something I have been dabbling with for a while with generally abysmal results. Like a pro golfer's 7 iron onto the green, it's harder than it looks. So here goes. Today I wrote, rewrote, scratched, added, deleted, and wound up with two paragraphs I think are keepers. These are the current opening paragraphs of what I hope to be my first published novel. Please give me your honest feedback, publicly or privately. Thank you for reading!
>>>>>
>>>>>If you notice more than a passing resemblance to Graham Greene, it is not accidental. I should be so lucky. It happens that one of his best books opens in a graveyard.
>>>>>
>>>>>Mike
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>>On the day Charlie Hess was put in the ground his new widow, Lucinda, dressed in black with a twist. Underneath the trim black Armani suit Charlie bought her after a big score she wore a hot pink garter belt. Per ounce it probably cost more than cocaine. It looked great on her, a view only Charlie had enjoyed. This was the last time she would wear it.
>>>>>
>>>>>A couple hundred yards away George Fisk surveyed the burial as inconspicuously as he could. A cemetery is a good place to go unnoticed. Speaking into a microphone near his shoulder, he took note of who arrived and with whom. Periodically he pretended to pay his respects at the nearest headstone. “Gladys Phillips. 1943 – 2005. Beloved Mother.” He idly wondered who she was and what she meant to those who paid for her gravestone.