Earlier today I was processing the pile of declines in my stack and finally at the end, turned my attention to the maybe pile. I can tell you I don’t read all the writing that gets declined, but I do read all the comments. I can also tell you that if one of our editors feels strong enough to “maybe” something, I read every word.
And reading delightfully almost always leads to writing for me. I started feeling inspired by everything at about 2 in the afternoon, just about the same time I had to git up and out of the house.
I tried voice to text for one idea but didn’t get very far. Later, returning to my “virtual” notebook, my effort to begin again was thwarted by my beloved Mario* and his desire to hammer my notebook into a new organizational structure. So I spent about an hour renaming files and creating some folders to sort more easily through the “slush and fluff.”
*Mario, if you want to know, is what I call my left brain. Well meaning but bossy as hell. And most often the side of my head that gets a pounding headache.
I have it on good authority that once a poem is written, you should leave it alone for a certain amount of time before returning to it. What’s the right amount of time? Dunno. I’m gonna say 3 months. This makes the origination date important. After that, the next most important thing is potential (this is perceived potential of course) which can’t be determined until that 3 month mark.
Durning my thesis semester in my MFA program I devised a number/letter combo system. First character is a number 1 to 4 (Highest to lowest potential) followed by a letter, D for done, R for revision needed. This helped me to figure out what poems to include in my first draft of my thesis.
Good gravy. Nobody cares about this nonsense.
Where was I going with all that? What the hell?
I suppose the point is that I never did write anything new and now I’m kind of bent about it because I lost it. The inspiration to write.. I lost it. Now all I can think about is organizing my google drive. Stupid cloud. Stupid Mario.
Other than that not much else has changed. I still feel mostly like garbage and it’s still cold as fuck outside (currently -14 headed for -20). Good gravy!!
Before I went to bed last night, I was thinking about this blog. I was thinking about how, no matter what a person does if they are posting things on the intenet, it is done with some measure of filter based on the perceived audience.
I mean, though I don’t really think anyone but one or two or five actual humans are reading this, there is still the seed of thought that there could be random trolling from who knows where. This little fact, as benign as it is, keeps me from being too revealing. In some cases this is good but in others, there are things that get stuck in my head I have a hard time working out.
It’s absolutely fact that writing this blog all the time is my therapy. It’s not free, but it is a whole hell of a lot cheaper than an actual therapist. Right now, at this very moment, I have two issues itching my brain repeatedly and I have no way to scratch. Might just try to talk to Jim about both tonight, if I can get a little of his time.
Good gravy. Why is it so hard for me to get QT with my husband? Strangely that’s not one of the itches that need scratching. Even stranger is that if it was bothering me, I’d have no problem writing about it here as he’s 1) Not one of the people reading and 2) Would understand. I mean, I suppose as long as things remain as they are now which is mostly newlywed-ish.
So last night I was considering a reboot of my tumblr. My black diary that held the secret thoughts I would not allow on my more public facing platforms. I got so far as downloading the app and resetting my password (haven’t logged in since late 2016).
And just now as I write this I realize I’ve just this past week spent time organizing and archiving all my writing and forgot about Tumblr. Have I ever archived that? Ohhhhhh noooo! 😱
Guess I know what’s going on the Tuesday to-do list. 😜 Wait for it…. ….
That’s enough gravy for one night.
Stay warm ya’ll,