Poetry Friday — The Writing Life

To write about writing can sometimes be exceedingly dry and sometimes be exceedingly scary.

There are, it seems to me, two ways to go.

You can talk about craft — nuts and bolts — and risk being called dry.
Or you can talk about process and face being called nuts.

I generally like to err on the side of nuts.

Because really, laundry is dry.
Grocery shopping = dry.
Making a run to the post office = arid.

Best to spice things up a bit.
Right?

Here’s the thing, for me, about process.

It is brutal, except for those few times when it isn’t.
And those times are, apparently, enough.

There’s something almost a little shameful about that.
I mean, I tell my children what you tell your children — to find work they love.

And then I proceed to devote hundreds of unpaid hours to a few hundred words at a time without any idea which (if any) will ever see the light of day. And when I’m not actually typing, I devote my time to panic, doubt, yearning and obsession. All on the off chance that one day soon I’ll pick up a seriously fevered head of steam and work my way into an ecstatic froth. I love it when that happens.

The odds aren’t all that great but the payoff is just incomparable.

So. Here I sit.
Doing the work that I love.

Happy Friday.

Starting a Poem
— Robert Bly

You’re alone.Then there’s a knock
On the door. It’s a word. You
Bring it in. Things go
OK for a while. But this word

Has relatives. Soon
They turn up. None of them work.
They sleep on the floor, and they steal
Your tennis shoes.

You started it; you weren’t
Content to leave things alone

(Read the rest of the poem here…)

18 Responses to “Poetry Friday — The Writing Life”

  1. n0onz

    Hey, I’m just a random reader.
    Hope you don’t mind, I love your writing!
    All the best <3
    xox

  2. saralholmes

    Oh, my poems steal my tennis shoes all the time. You’d think they wouldn’t want the smelly old things, but it appears they are not picky about taking them and stomping around in the mud and wet grass and tracking in some dog poo besides. Maybe if I tie the laces together.

    Back to the work I love now, too.

  3. kristydempsey

    And the world would end.

    Ah, thank goodness we never quite get what we want, or we’re fickle about what we want, or our tennis shoes just won’t stay put, because the world might come to an end. Yes, that’s us. Poets. Really just superheroes saving the world one work in progress at a time.

  4. Anonymous

    Tanita Says 🙂

    “And when I’m not actually typing, I devote my time to panic, doubt, yearning and obsession. “

    Hah! Yes, and I must needs remind myself that, “Hey, YOU picked this. You could have continued teaching and having summers off from panic and doubt, but NO!”

    I do love this work. Loving myself through the doubt is part of the trick…

  5. carmenoliver

    Ahhhh…the process is so scary sometimes it hurts. The other day I added a chapter to my story only to discover it’s the first chapter for the next book. Ha! It’s funny how you see things after you’ve had time to reflect. I need to stop tweaking. Thanks for your post.