In poetry writing years I’m not even a toddler, but almost 1 year out some truths surround me like giant bulls-eyes.
The Big Cahuna: I have to write for myself, at my own pace.
Try writing because you promised you would. Try writing from a prompt, or for x number of days in a row. I did all that in April for the poetry challenge, and it was an agony by the end.
I think about writing every day, but don’t sit down to write until a poem begins in my head.
1st Runner Up: the absolute necessity of following a poem’s true path, and believing in it.
Don’t know about y’all, but I battle with the desire for approval. Childhood leftover crap that I wish would leave me the hell alone. Not talking about quiet satisfaction or even delight that folks appreciate my poems. Different animal entirely. Writing for “them” is one way of putting it, and it turns my easy creative flow into a flat mill pond.
Important Also Ran: respecting my creative process and nurturing it.
A word or phrase prompted by something seen or felt will pop unbidden into my head and that’s it. The title (rarely changed) of the next poem. First draft always in longhand. Messy. Exciting. And like the beginning, I feel certain when it is done. Once the poem is “set” then I add an image.
Postscript: it is ok to edit and rework later on. The poem will let me know.
OK, so why the dissertation you ask? Because while writing yesterday’s poem I took a detour onto Ought-To Road, once again, and the misery flat out wasn’t worth it. After this morning’s rewrite (https://lifewithhorace.com/2014/06/08/brilliance/) I thought I’d share what got me there.
Now to find a photo.