Reading this, in what I think the tempo requires, you can really feel the lethargy and depression in this piece. It totally resonates with some moments I’ve experienced in my own life, how about yours?
“It took me years to become a writer. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up until I was in my late 40s but what finally pushed me in that direction was finally understanding what I loved so much – words – how they sounded, their definitions, how I enjoyed forming sentences or thoughts and what made music and reading so special to me. I had been in love with words all my life. It was time to honor them.”
… and he later asked me to expound on those thoughts. Interestingly, I had already created a draft to do precisely that! I will happily double down on the view that words are special and wonderful and every positive adjective out there – in other words, they are indeed magic to me! But I will also compliment my friend on putting into words for himself how divine words are—then capping off his last sentence with the title and intention of his blog – sublime!
Furthermore, I felt it was important to delve deeper into the subject on a more emotionally-evoking aspect of it for me, and purely because words are that exciting. I see many new blogs on WordPress, where it feels like the commitment to writing and using those precious words well is lacking in the presentation of their work. I’m not just talking about me being a Grammar Nazi (which, at heart, I am) but just taking words and placing them willy-nilly without any forethought to whether they rightly belong in that order or in that thought process. It feels like massive disrespect to those words I hold so dearly. Add to that, they sadly also don’t care enough to spell them correctly, in the right context, or even in a flow that makes sense. It diminishes the glow I feel that words deserve to be bathed in.
Now, I’m fully prepared to be called out that reading is subjective, and maybe the things I’ve mentioned here, another writer could feel about my pieces – I’m not perfect, I do make mistakes in my writing, and gotten called out about it to which I happily thank them. What I’m referring to primarily is a gross misunderstanding of how to write a coherent thought. Words are meant to deliver information about the subject matter, concept, or story idea – not take away from the purpose of what those definitions are relating. Sadly, I’ve read many who, as I said, don’t seem to be that committed to pulling off a sound thought. That makes me sad because I revere words. I hope that we all remember how unique and magical words are, letting this opinion and concern of mine be recognized the next time a post begins to percolate in a writer’s brain.
Thanks for reading! Comments and/or slap downs encouraged. 😉
When I look deeper into this piece, I feel it doesn’t necessarily refer to just dealing with writer’s block. Humans are complicated, and sometimes facing things is a long-drawn-out process. Being scared is just one of the emotions one can go through.
How I hate those poets who rise at dawn to write a couple hours before work— Wallace Stevens especially, Emperor of Ice-Cream, my ass! You’re not the only one with a day job.
And don’t get me started on Ted Kooser, who should be staying up late in the flatlands to watch the milky way flow instead of drinking dawn from a bucket some early bird probably pooped in.
My muse sleeps in a bottle and does not awake until neon lights buzz. She inspires the moon and I do her bidding beneath flickering televisions, whipping a ballpoint to get every last drop.
The only time you’ll see me in the stark morning light is if I’ve had to walk home drunk and forgotten the way.
As the soft skin of your leg conceals the strength of your thigh, I lean in close to hear your voice— quiet as dandelion seeds in autumn with words powerful as a storm.
Hand in hand, enjoying your perfume, your mouth and eyes straighten, no longer curved like the rest of you. I don’t want to relax my grip but know I can’t clutch onto my desire without losing that which I hold most dear.
I was the teacher’s pet not because of my smarts but because of my charm, smooth chocolate compliments and precision tattling.
I knew which bully to befriend for much-needed protection and when to stab him in the back then upgrade to a bigger model.
There will always be men who think they’re great and need little guys, like me, to confirm their awesomeness.
I am so honored and pleased that my poem, Just A Blank White Page, was published this morning on Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine! Thanks to Brian Geiger, Editor of Vita Brevis, for finding my work worthy of inclusion.