Before we get into my writing field notes for the day, I recorded my poem “White Lake Fish.” CW: it deals with the topic of death, so take care when listening.
I wrote a poem today, didn’t mean to. Was planning on revising, which I did, too.
About 375 pages into The Weight of Ink. About ⅔ through Departure(s). If only Ink were as light, though I wouldn’t want it to be shorter. Thinking hard about which part I like best of the first novel. I am a different person than I was when I first read it, so I admire different things about it.
The poem I wrote this morning is “Like a Dog.” It’s about patterns and personal responsibility. I think. Flirted with inverting the last two lines, but that also alters the poem’s message.
Word Raccoon is greeting people at her old, newly reopened writing hangout today as if she owns the place. I let her take a photo of the tea display, go around and say hello, admire the photos of new nieces and nephews, then made her settle down to the words.
Decided to record a poem, though it’s one of the sadder ones. Guess I have to get used to reading those aloud, too. (See above.)
Or not.
It’s still overcast. WR’s hair is wet but up in a bun. She’s chilly. But she’s drinking Earl Grey, she’s joking. She has eaten breakfast. She’s writing.
Last night she submitted poetry to five journals. It had been a few days, and that’s how she often likes to end her evenings, so I let her.
Poem number two of the day written, unexpected: “In Lieu of Flowers.” Short, compact, mentions tulips. Not really about death.
There really ought to be a limit on how many poems you can write on a topic. Some things are deep and wide, with roots, a trunk, branches, twigs, leaves. They look different according to the season, but as long as they’re alive, they have an aspect.
WR says that sounds a bit formal.
I say “a bit” sounds formal.
She has no excuse. She sips from my Earl Grey and asks why I didn’t save some of that bacon from earlier.
We could go granular. We could geek out on the cellular structure of trees. Let’s not.
Maybe I can convince the raccoon to open a poem that needs revising.
She’s cold because she would not take the time to dry her hair, which is totally on her since Mia (my eldest) sent us a fabulous Dyson hair dryer. (Have I mentioned that? It’s a wonder. Mia is more of a wonder, though.)
WR is convinced that since the coffeehouse is open again that it’s dry-your-hair-outdoors season, her favorite. It decidedly is not. Not yet.
Because it is the triweekly theology-book-discussion morning for two men who meet here, WR and I are listening to Dark Academia. (It’s usually just classical music rebranded. Why?)
WR wants to listen to Ed Sheeran or the like. Maybe Hanson.
It is not Ed weather, darling raccoon.
Wouldn’t it be cool if everyone in the world played a sunny song all at once and we could get sunshine everywhere instantly?
Mmm Bop!
Swapped the word people in for humans, because why humans, in this case? Too formal. Again.
Barista noticed I was stretching; I bought more caffeine.
The cold-day pain reliever is hitting my brain’s snooze. Perpetually.
“After the Chuckle” given a Dickinsonian glow DOWN. Stripped it of the narrator. Compressed it. Verbed it up. Left it a little bleak. Fits the weather.
I gave “I Have No Beef with God” a facelift, but the ending isn’t landing. That one needs more mulling.
Wait, I think I maybe just need to slice the last line off. (That makes more sense if you see the poem.)
In “Cameras Capture, Too,” WTH is Norman Rockwell doing in here? Or do we like him here?
I find the more I’m trying to take on other poets’ styles, the more I endanger my work’s voice. It’s a fine balance, and I haven’t found it yet.
Good thing I’m remembering to keep the first drafts, just in case. In a couple of cases, though, the poems were better after revision. In one case, much better.
In “Cameras,” the poem currently looks like someone stole its hubcaps and tires and put it up on cinder blocks. Damn.
It’s a process, and as I told someone who asked me how to write a short story yesterday, “Hey man, just remember that this isn’t brain surgery and no one gets hurt if we don’t get it right on the first try.”
I’m trying to take my own advice.
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