I tried the “Japanese cheesecake” hack that’s making the rounds so you don’t have to.

The “recipe?”

Cram as many cookies as will fit into a single-serving container of Greek yogurt. Cover with plastic or pop the lid back on. Refrigerate overnight (or at least a few hours).

Verdict?

Don’t bother. Just have real cheesecake. Unless you enjoy soggy cookies? 

In hindsight, last night was not a night for forcing alchemy on any front. 

I sat down to submit a poetry packet. I was tired, but I reached into my ready-to-submit folder and pulled out one of my cheekier but meatier poems, expecting this part to be easy.

But.

The poem uses a very crude word. On purpose. To good effect. 

I was rounding up a packet for a university’s journal, and while I thought the poem would be a good literary match, I wasn’t at all sure they’d accept that “make or break” word.

WR and I don’t accept censorship. 

Not even imagined censorship. Not even from ourselves. 

We do, however, demand that we interrogate poems that may be lacking. 

The poem is actually sweet at its center, which is probably why WR insisted on the word, to offset that. (Unlike the unfortunate “cheesecake” which could have used more sugar.)

I put on my writing gloves. Picked up the scalpel. 

After much consulting with WR, I found a euphemism that still conveyed the meaning I wanted. Not censorship, but truly asking if there wasn’t another way of saying it. 

There was, I was embarrassed to find. But had I not found a better-but-still-apt phrase, I would’ve kept the word. 

All good now, right?

Nope.

The more I poked at the poem, the more it unraveled. When that happens, I stop tinkering until the next day, and I compare both during daylight hours. 

Now I’m wondering what its message is, and why it’s telling three stories…or is it?

Don’t revise when you’re tired, duckies. It’s a thankless job and it will keep you awake long after you’ve closed your laptop.

Upon reflection, I’m not sure that poem was right for that journal after all.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t need revising. (I haven’t gotten around to it yet, but I will.) 

Even if it does mention “middle-aged fools.” (I love that line.) 

I tried to work on my novel at the library today, but alas, slow progress. So many of my people are hurting today, and I wish I could do more for them. 

I did manage to tighten one section of the novel, moving whole paragraphs to the “scrap” file; I think it’s about time to print it so I can start scribbling notes onto it. It’s funny how parts of it are only just a shade past me thinking aloud.

I’m like, gorl, you better give me a scene and quit reading me stage directions or worse. 

Now, though, I know enough about what the novel wants to be that I can add drywall, you know? It’s only a matter of time after that until WR swoops in with drapes and wallpaper, if I let her.

I’m already beginning to feel the ache of having to give up writing this book when it’s finished, so that tells me that while we’re not even close to being done, we are on our way. I’m open to the idea of finishing it, which comes first. 

(I probably shouldn’t say this yet, but WR leaned over my shoulder a couple of weeks ago and whispered an idea for novel #4 into my ear. I’m not committing to it yet, but it’s not half bad.)

I also made a trip to the grocery this afternoon for (gasp) fresh produce. The cherries are gorgeous, red/black, almost too pretty to eat. Reminds me of a scene in my first novel, Victorine, when Manet paints her holding a guitar and cherries in Street Singer. Now I’m nostalgic for the world that the novel was for me for years, the refuge. It was like living in a beautiful dream while wrestling with the meaning of art and love. 

Anyhow, WR is claiming some cherries for dinner. 

Then she has to get those last-minute poetry submissions in for the month. How is it January 30th already?