That’s what I have been doing all my life! I have been steeping. Marinating, if you will. I have been marinating in books, stories, essays, films and plays all of my life! And this year, as with many before, I am confident will be my year to produce much work. Perhaps even succeed in being published! But as my daughter has reminded me, not so long ago I spoke of my newest truth: I write easily when I am writing for myself. It is when I think of what others will say about my work that I shut down.
So to write. The thinking will come with the editing. You know what I mean. 🙂
As I am never content, it seems, I am deleting my JournalScape journal and will be writing my short musings here, along with my miniatures. For one thing, it just makes sense. For another, I do not like the JournalScape look. It is too busy. There are too many words around my own words. It looks sloppy.
One of the best things about Chicago in spring, is the tulips. Tulips line Michigan Avenue and State Street. They are found in nooks and crannies all over the city. What better way to celebrate the return of the sun than with these lovely gems?
ENCHANTED TULIPS by M. (Maud) Keary
- TULIPS white and tulips red,
- Sweeter than a violet bed!
- Say, old Mother Bailey, say
- Why your tulips look so gay,
- Why they smell so sweet, and why
- They bloom on when others die?
- “By the pixies’ magic power
- Do my tulips always flower,
- By the pixies’ magic spell
- Do they give so sweet a smell!
- Tulips, tulips, red and white,
- Fill the pixies with delight!
- Pixy women, pixy men,
- Seek my tulips from the glen;
- Midnight come, they may be heard
- Singing sweet as any bird,
- Singing their wee babes to rest
- In the tulips they love best!”
The Tulip by Emily Dickinson
She slept beneath a tree
Remembered but by me.
I touched her cradle mute;
She recognized the foot,
Put on her carmine suit, —
Three short musings today.
1) Even as I am asserting myself more, I find myself cowering. I am speaking in reference to a poem that I wrote last night in response to a Poetic Asides prompt about change. I touched on religion. As far as my religious background goes, I was raised on fear and judgement. My last line of the poem includes the words “I am” in reference to me, not God, yet God as God in me. I immediately wanted to change it to “I Am,” yet refrained due to the eternal promise of fundamentalist backlash. Well, that was last night and this is a new day. I will change it. I will, dammit, write freely and courageously.
2) I am looking forward to writing a poem a day in November. Poetic Asides offers this opportunity to compose a chapbook of poetry from what is written in November. I don’t think they publish the chapbooks, but rather encourage us to put together our own and publish if we so desire. I probably shouldn’t be talking about this, as I do not yet know all of the facts. Fact finding is on tonight’s to-do list.
3) I am participating in NaNoWriMo again this year. I will not, however, be writing a novel, but numerous short stories and flash fiction stories. I hope by the end of the month to have some stories suitable for submitting singularly and as a book proposal.
What are your writing plans for November?
Do you, like me, still work toward writing courageously or do you always lay it all on the line?
There is no zeroing in on a target. There is no navigator on board. There is no plan, no hope, no anticipation of any sort. There is only the fluid journey of this nonpareil geometric shape, ending in a most rudimentary world.
Note: First posted on January 10, 2010.
At what point in our lives does the value of art move from the process to the product?
When do our stick figures and newly learned cursive letters become an embarrassment to our elders and peers, rather than a gem?
Who decides that the worth of one technique is higher than another?
Is it fair to tell someone that the art they worked out from deep in their gut is a lesser piece than another man’s?
Note: First posted October 1, 2009.