Crap a Diem

I used to be a lightning bolt poet, writer.  The urgency to put pen to paper would overwhelm me.  I'd stop whatever I was doing, grab a notebook and write. I've interrupted myself driving, nursing a baby (that was a long time ago), cooking dinner.  I had to stop myself in order to start, and then?  I'd write.  And when whatever it was that pinched me in my tuchus and got me to write was done. And so was I.

I didn't revise.  Oh, maybe I would check spelling, perhaps change a word or two or correct punctuation, but it wasn't a do-over, or even a do better.  My piece pretty much remained as it was when my pen inked it onto the paper.

Then I became more disciplined, a write every day no matter what kind of writer.  I learned how to carve time out of my day and dedicate myself to this craft.  Devote myself, put my writing first.  Guess what?  So much I what I write is crap.  I came to believe that my writing often has a gem buried in the mud, and needs the sunshine of revision in order to gleam.

Now I write freehand, free association, freewheeling...  I don't wait to be depressed or grieving to put my emotions into words.  More of the mundane has moved its way on to my pages.  Not only my feelings, also my observations, opinions, commentaries of life.  Most times these are mere germinations that need a sharp revision in order to culminate into a readable, approachable piece of poetry, prose or prattle.

I know I can take a strong line or stanza from a mediocre poem and insert it into a more compelling, relevant piece.  I might put a piece away, delay working on it so that I can look at it afresh; ready to whittle and chop until I carve it into a solid strong writing.  I also know that some writing deserves to stay in the drawer, and no time is needed to revise or force a work that is simply not working.

Still - I do occasionally have those delightful lightning bolt moments, and I continue to honor them.  The gift of time and writers groups and classes has taught me to go back.  Take a breathe or two, blow an exhale onto my paper and see what flutters in the breeze.   Insert?  Delete?  Change?   Kill or nurture?  Agonize or ignore?  These are the consuming thoughts I endure, the broodings of a fledging writer.  I actually enjoy this process.  What a wonderful feeling to lean back in my chair and think "I wrote that!"

Time to Write,

Jane
PS - this is how it feels to be a poet:
Elizabeth Gilbert's Ted Talk on Ruth Stone