On Beginning...

Sister AE tagged me with this poetry meme:

List at least four things you think a beginning poet should attend to and four mistakes you think a poet should avoid.

So, here's my take. I say "we" instead of "beginning poet" because I still consider myself a beginner. Every time I think I know what I am doing, my whole world gets turned upside down and I realize that I will never stop beginning. (NOTE: I haven't read what the others wrote, but these are the ideas that resonate with me.)

Things we should attend to:

1) Our fears: This has been a tough one for me to tackle. I thought is was easy when I just approached it from the point of view where I wrote about the things that I was afraid of. But when I considered the idea of writing from my fears (by that I mean writing from that place, that voice that I never let speak) it was much more challenging. When I have allowed that side of myself to speak freely. The work is raw, but much more satisfying.

2) Our words: They don't always come in pretty little packages. Sometimes, all I get for days is a couple of rumbly little phrases rattling around my head. These aren't poems, but they might be someday, so I write them down.

3) Our sources: I used to believe that if a poem was really "mine" it had to come very organically from my own brain. Recently I have discovered that inspiration can come from many places. I can take a poem, a song or a particular poet and use their words, their tone or their voice to take that inspiration to a new place. In fact, when I am feeling particularly dry, I will grab a stack of books at random and flip through them, scanning the page for words or phrases that jump out at me. Sometimes, I see the words incorrectly. Sometimes, I see two words together even though they are printed on separate lines on the page. It doesn't matter. If it jumps out at me, I write it down in a notebook. After I have gone through all my books (or have a couple full notebook pages) I put the books away and write a poem using the words and phrases I recorded. It took me a while to realize that this is still "writing poetry." Use inspiration from any source possible. Credit only when necessary. Remember that you made it new.

4) Our past: Memories are great fuel for inspiration. I didn't have a particularly dynamic childhood, but if you ask me to recall something wonderful, sad or frightening that happened to me, I will remember something in great detail. The story of me (and my past) isn't about the facts. It's about the details. It's not about me being a small town girl who never did much outside the city limits. The story of me exists in the memories that I hold of those days- catching crawdads in the creek, chasing my first love across a field at the age of six, riding my bicycle to the Dairy Queen, the sound of my metal-wheeled roller skates on the playground blacktop. It's the details that make the difference and memory (whether accurate or not) can be rich with details.

Things we should avoid:

1) The idea that we have to be a "poet". Nothing could be more frightening than expecting that we have to be anything. I saw a bumper sticker once (which I loved) that said, "Every Kid is a Writer." When I thought about it, I realized that it's true. We are all writers. The only requirement of the job is to write. No body said it had to be good. No one said it had to be publishable. No one said it had to rhyme, not rhyme, make sense, be spelled correctly, have 5 syllables, be long, be short, be true, be funny, be pretty, be intelligent. We just have to keep putting our pen on the page or our fingers on the keys. That's it.

2) Waiting until we have something to write. I've been guilty of this so many times. I have very prolific friends who write several things a day. (I hate them!) Most times, I am lucky if I manage a poem a week. But if I remind myself that I don't have to wait until I have a "brilliant poem" in my head, I actually manage to write some things that I like. (Prompts are very helpful in this)

3) The idea that we will be wrong and/or shocking. Chances are, we won't be. People who read regularly, watch TV or listen to music these days are not likely to be shocked by much. This shouldn't be disheartening when it comes to writing. It's comforting to me because it gives me the freedom to say what I want to say from the deep, dark parts of myself.

4) The idea that we have to write to be a poet. Ha ha! You think I am contradicting myself? Well, I'm not...not really. I think there more to being a poetic soul than just writing down the details. I feel the most disconnected and unpoetic when I am not paying attention to the world around me. If I forget to read the newspaper for a couple of weeks; if I don't have time to read other poems, novels or essays, I get a little cranky. I feel uninspired and sad. I feel like I can't write anything. So, I sit down in front of a blank page and grow more and more frustrated with my sheer inability to create anything. I tell myself that I will allow time to read the paper after I have (finally) written something, but this never works. Sometimes, you just have to set aside the pen and paper for awhile and look around.

So, there you have it. I won't specifically tag anyone because I have so many writer friends that I would love to hear respond to this. If you have ideas, please respond and post the link in my comments.

Ugh

Here's what I did today:

Woke up and stared at my ceiling for approximately 28 minutes. I've never contemplated my ceiling before. I never looked at the cracks, covered over in plaster and paint and wondered why they were there. I've never considered what sort of pressure might have caused those cracks to form. I have never wondered what might be lurking behind those seems where the wall begins to break away ever so slightly. Today I considered this.

Then I got dressed and stood in the kitchen for approximately 4 minutes. I considered eating, but didn't see the point. Instead, I fished ten dollars out of my various pockets and drove to the gas station. After taking the wrong turn twice trying to get back onto Powell, I went to work, where the air conditioning was being used for the first time (I assume). It sounded like a helicopter was landing in my office. Normaily, I might have been concerned, but today I found the loud hum somewhat comforting.

I spent the next several hours (until now) returning emails, reading about bats and refreshing my MySpace page to see if anything had changed (it hadn't). *sigh*

Last night, I spent several minutes staring at the small collection of ants that have gathered around my fireplace. I wondered where they were all going. They didn't seem to have much of a destination. Mostly, they just kept running in circles. They'd pass over the same discarded book twice and then go back and do it again. They didn't walk together and they didn't even walk in a line, they just wandered in circles as if they were looking for something, but weren't certain what that thing was. I wondered if this ever got monotonous for them, but then I considered the fact that I was the one sitting at home watching ants.

I've been feeling tired lately. I might be finally settling into the new job. The "newness" of it is wearing off, I guess. I still love it, but...well..I don't know. I think I am feeling a bit disconnected. It's my own damn fault because I have made little or no effort to hang out with my friends. Ugh. It's all a part of my "not-taking-care-of-myself" pattern. I know I need to do a better job of it. Yes, I probably should have eaten something today, even if it was just an apple. Yes, I probably should call my friends when I need someone to talk to. Yes, I should sleep instead of staying up until 5 am trying to write crappy poetry.

I need to do more dancing. I need to do more sitting and talking to humans and less sitting and watching ants. I need to eat something besides Skittles. I need to write more (and better) And I need to breathe a little too. That would be good.

Detox

What is it about this time of day that makes me want to curl up under my desk and take a nap? I always seem to hit a wall around three or four...oh wait. It's five. Lack of food perhaps.

I'll have you know that I haven't had candy in days. (Except for that little hard candy thing that Lantz gave me on Tuesday) I seem to be in detox. No candy. No diet coke. It's not an intentional detox, I am just poor. Maybe it's a good thing though. I can see that after a few more days of this, (after the DT's) the need for candy will dissipate and I will begin to see the other side of the wrapper. I will begin to envision a life in which I can make it through an entire day without even thinking about candy, let alone eating it. Ah, who am I kidding?? As soon as I have a dollar in my pocket, I'm going back on the Red Vine wagon.

I've also switched to drinking gallons of water, which cuts into my efficiency because I have to pee so goddam much. Since noon I have peed not once, not twice, but six times. Never have I been so acquainted with the writing on the bathroom walls. (You probably didn't need to know that, but hey, you're the one still reading this)

Things are weird around the office today. There's a weird energy. It's not bad, it's just different. Everyone seems to have ants in their pants. (or maybe they've been drinking too much water, too). We're about halfway through putting together June, which I wasn't certain about, but now I am feeling like it will be good. I got Mr. Tommy Gaffney's article over the weekend and couldn't stop giggling. Made my damn day. You'll love it, but you have to wait until June 1st to see why. Tommy Gaffney has to be the best person I met last year. He's good people, he's a damn talented writer and he surrounds himself with some pretty amazing friends. I might love Tommy Gaffney more than I love Red Vines. Maybe.

Oy. Back to the grind. I have about 1000 words to write for June (which will have to wait while I make my seventh trip to the bathroom). Much love to you all!

The Delirium of Dashes and Indents

This is what my life has come to...staying up until 3:15 am tending to floating dashes and overbearing indents. Ten hours ago, Nathan and I were having simultaneous aneurysms trying to come up with yet another yoga title. Six hours ago, I was editing the coffeeshop for the first time (late arrival). Four hours ago, I was arguing with a freelancer who is not even here. Two hours ago, I was arguing with an M-dash. (Darn M-dash screwed up my spacing when I made it go away.) One hour ago, I had to Google "forgoing" and "conduit" because I couldn't remember how to spell them. I am officially crazy or tired or overly caffeinated, I'm not sure.
The good news is that I have survived the day on what someone most certainly created for me...Diet Coke Plus (it's fortified with vitamins and minerals, no joke!) and a box of half-melted Junior Mints. Let me just say before you start, SHUT UP! I'd eat a salad if I could find it in my desk drawer.
The good news is it's done and can officially go to bed. So, what the hell am I talking to you for?