I lied about this post. I said it would come about two weeks ago. I've got no excuses beyond the limits of my body and my own vices such as television and beers. I began writing it at work, pen and paper and all of that. Feels good to make words on someone else's dime.
The first difference between writing a poem every day and doing the 750/morning pages I find myself wanting to talk about is the flexibility of each. With poem-per-day project I allowed myself great flexibility when it came to time and length of writing and writings. I allowed myself to be more at the whim of writerly stimuli when it saw fit to strike. I wrote at all hours of the day and rarely ever scheduled writing or poem time unless I knew for sure I was going to be particularly tight on time that day. While the regiment & ritual of making a poem everyday was incredibly flexible the expectations I had for the products/poems created was fairly high (a fact I neglected to realize properly until I began the 750). I definitely have to admit that intention was more of a factor when creating poems specifically. Labor was evident in my body and fingers and frustrations as I was creating and winnowing and plucking at the various fibers to discern which are and are not a poem. I was working to weave something. And to some extent that work is a naturally tapped into in the act of writing (for me anyway) but usually it needs to be fueled from the less intuitive side of me.
750 taps into that but n a rare and sporadic basis.
750 happens every morning (usually 4/50 examples to the contrary) & before I do most anything else if I can help it. i am quite strict about it. Sometimes not even letting myself up to releave my bladder. Sometimes (esp if I am not staying at my own hose for the night) I wil have some food or coffee or conversation (sometimes to procure access to 750words). Occasionally I'll have a shower or some physical contact before writing but usually the writing happens in bed somewhere between 7:30 & 11AM.
In contrast to the daily poems, the content and aesthetic quality of the 750 matters very little. I sometimes write encouraging words multiple times, repeating things like "GO" & "move your fingers" & "keep it up/going" & "Keep typing".
Typing is the final and perhaps most potent difference I am finding. 750 is always typed-- which I have been experiencing great feelings of contention about. It has been a near constant subject I write about. I find myself alluding to the fact that there is much less actual physical contact and motion when using a keyboard vs drawing out the alphabet with my hands and fingers. Most of my daily poems began pen-to-paper, even if it was just the idea shorthanded for later typing. The first real lives of those ideas came from dancing fingers and ink. It wasn't just pushing buttons. At my worst that is how I feel about typing as a tool for freewriting. I worry anxiously about how I spell things (even after I turn the spell check off). And for some reason misspellings feel wronger and and less intentional when lined up in helvetica. This awareness of how much my writing pays attention to my body was a wonderful surprise to me. I looked back over my poetry blog and found that I write about my fingers and hands and generally use fingers and hands and ink in my images and metaphors to a startling degree. The upshot of this frustration is that I am working through it. Getting less and less bothered by my apprehensions about technology.
On a small and wonderful note which is slightly unrelated but is often receiving pretty word bits from my 750, I have started a twitter!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Fitting a year in 600 words (unsuccessfully)
I have been writing daily for more than 400 days running. For every day last year I wrote a poem. Poetry every day. It seemed slightly unfathomable at the time I began but I just kept going. Today I want to do a little bit of thinking and reflecting about the experience of making a poem every day. I am currently freewriting 750 words every morning these days instead of making poems daily (although I am still making the inevitable bi-weekly poem).
One of the things I became proud of, frustrated and enthused by was the amount of poetry I ended up seeking out to read/experience as a way of feeding my process. I am happy to report that I am slightly better read and cultured in general when it comes to poetry. I scooped up the words of Diane Wackoski and Frank O'Hara. I inched myself closer to the Seattle poetry slam community and whetted my ready eardrums with the sounds of Jeananne Verlee and fell in love with Andrea Gibson. The flashbacks to these first encounters are, even now, like fire in the churchyard of my memories. Each inspired me not stop myself. Helped me give up the habit of holding or hoping to hold the words I make as sacred. And now I have graduated to even more freely and frenetically churned out words. 750 every morning. Although I am still working on not lapsing backward in the instance of misspelled words.
I became frustrated with my lack of background reading and noticed how all the time certain subjects and phrases and syllabic tricks of light were reused in my work. Some almost to the point of being worn down. I scapegoated all the time, blaming my repetition on the limited amount of poetry I perceived myself to have read. Reading books of poetry would simultaneously inspire me to compile a manuscript of my own as and intimidate me way down to the marrow. I would sometimes think I could never have enough pieces that were good enough and cohesive enough to accompany each other to be bound together. It's a struggle to be working on a book.
A new challenge arose for me. Before last year I placed my identity as a writer and poet as secondary to my other activities. And by secondary I mean that I would not bring it up when introducing myself, feel nervous about writing in public, and almost NEVER share my writing unless the space was every clearly constructed to be a space of sharing (like a classroom or writer's group). I was anxious about initiating any interaction's segue into the subject of writing or poetry. Because I was so often confronted by my own practices in poetry, their enlarged presence in my life forced me to talk about it with people in my life. I would tell people on the bus "Why yes I am writing. I'm writing what might be poem." I began reading to friends in cafes (with small wibbles in my tummy) and asking for feedback. I have made not-yet-successful attempts at booting up a writing group. And am SO MUCH better at fending off feelings of illegitimacy when it comes to being a poet and writer. It is my first occupation these days. When someone asks me what I do I answer "I'm a poet/writer/(sometimes performer). I write."
I just realized the subject for this post is WAAAAY to big to be done in a single post. By next Saturday I'll be back here. Writing about my mangled sordid relationship with the keyboard. Preview: I am a newly self-described pen fetishist.
Also I need to tell you about navigating the difference between the regimented "every morning" writing and the "just churn it out by midnight" approach of poem-a-day.
So much to share!
<3
One of the things I became proud of, frustrated and enthused by was the amount of poetry I ended up seeking out to read/experience as a way of feeding my process. I am happy to report that I am slightly better read and cultured in general when it comes to poetry. I scooped up the words of Diane Wackoski and Frank O'Hara. I inched myself closer to the Seattle poetry slam community and whetted my ready eardrums with the sounds of Jeananne Verlee and fell in love with Andrea Gibson. The flashbacks to these first encounters are, even now, like fire in the churchyard of my memories. Each inspired me not stop myself. Helped me give up the habit of holding or hoping to hold the words I make as sacred. And now I have graduated to even more freely and frenetically churned out words. 750 every morning. Although I am still working on not lapsing backward in the instance of misspelled words.
I became frustrated with my lack of background reading and noticed how all the time certain subjects and phrases and syllabic tricks of light were reused in my work. Some almost to the point of being worn down. I scapegoated all the time, blaming my repetition on the limited amount of poetry I perceived myself to have read. Reading books of poetry would simultaneously inspire me to compile a manuscript of my own as and intimidate me way down to the marrow. I would sometimes think I could never have enough pieces that were good enough and cohesive enough to accompany each other to be bound together. It's a struggle to be working on a book.
A new challenge arose for me. Before last year I placed my identity as a writer and poet as secondary to my other activities. And by secondary I mean that I would not bring it up when introducing myself, feel nervous about writing in public, and almost NEVER share my writing unless the space was every clearly constructed to be a space of sharing (like a classroom or writer's group). I was anxious about initiating any interaction's segue into the subject of writing or poetry. Because I was so often confronted by my own practices in poetry, their enlarged presence in my life forced me to talk about it with people in my life. I would tell people on the bus "Why yes I am writing. I'm writing what might be poem." I began reading to friends in cafes (with small wibbles in my tummy) and asking for feedback. I have made not-yet-successful attempts at booting up a writing group. And am SO MUCH better at fending off feelings of illegitimacy when it comes to being a poet and writer. It is my first occupation these days. When someone asks me what I do I answer "I'm a poet/writer/(sometimes performer). I write."
I just realized the subject for this post is WAAAAY to big to be done in a single post. By next Saturday I'll be back here. Writing about my mangled sordid relationship with the keyboard. Preview: I am a newly self-described pen fetishist.
Also I need to tell you about navigating the difference between the regimented "every morning" writing and the "just churn it out by midnight" approach of poem-a-day.
So much to share!
<3
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Brief brief:
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
no apologies...?
I haven't posted here in forever. Which is somewhat disgusting. However my excuse is that every time I have sat down the think about writing for the past 3 months I have decided to just write what ever there was to write and not write about my own writing in a substantial sort of way (any more that in a "wow that line rocked/sucked" sort of way). However there have been SO MANY developments.
I am now starting to write 750 words every morning at 6AM @ 750.
I am still working on my book. AND! I have decided to approach promoting my writing like a musician (in a performing youtubing viral sort of way). Need to get on that!
I have been super busy! I lost my job two weeks ago (a job that really wasn't right for me). And yesterday I rode my bike home from the 3rd job I got since that time with an uphill smile on my face and the sun at my back! So far I have felt loved and welcomed by all of my new employers. That is a plus. But also I am super busy! I feel useful!
The weather has been improving. And everything else along with it.
I am now starting to write 750 words every morning at 6AM @ 750.
I am still working on my book. AND! I have decided to approach promoting my writing like a musician (in a performing youtubing viral sort of way). Need to get on that!
I have been super busy! I lost my job two weeks ago (a job that really wasn't right for me). And yesterday I rode my bike home from the 3rd job I got since that time with an uphill smile on my face and the sun at my back! So far I have felt loved and welcomed by all of my new employers. That is a plus. But also I am super busy! I feel useful!
The weather has been improving. And everything else along with it.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
BOOK!
Alright you tenaciously creative monsters: I have made some very important decisions and commitments about my writing lately, and it is damn well time that I build them a sail for exploring the quivering wave-tips of the internet.
The most exciting development is that I have decided I want to work on compiling a book. I have enough poems that I feel proud enough of, or feel I could wrangle into something I am very proud of, that I have realized it's time to build my boat for bigger leagues. I still plan on putting together another chapbook by the end of next month.
I see this as something that will be helpful in my word-winnowing process. It will be like a pre-publishing and I will ask folks for feedback about what I have put out already.
My throat gets lovely jitters when I think about this project. I have a few presses already in mind and don't want to think to horribly seriously about where to send this book which I have yet to form. But if you or somebody you know has a potential lead on a publisher which would be amenable to my work, style, and personality, please send me some info!
Development number 2 is mainly on the jobfront. I have decided (with some help from an incredible new acquaintance!) to apply for jobs in the tech writing field. I have previously let myself feel incompetent and intimidated about these kinds of jobs but well, screw that. I have a bitchin' handle on the written word and would like to be on the market for those skills specifically. Move over Grammar Nazis, I'm aiming to be Mother Teresa with my red pen (instead of a rosary).
Development #3 is more of an update. I am once again redoubling my efforts toward getting writers together. Last weekend I treated myself to a delicious writing group with a group of writers in Olympia (I moved away 5 months ago) and I was so deeply inspired that I NEED to make more space in my current town (Seattle) for writers to breathe out loud!
The most exciting development is that I have decided I want to work on compiling a book. I have enough poems that I feel proud enough of, or feel I could wrangle into something I am very proud of, that I have realized it's time to build my boat for bigger leagues. I still plan on putting together another chapbook by the end of next month.
I see this as something that will be helpful in my word-winnowing process. It will be like a pre-publishing and I will ask folks for feedback about what I have put out already.
My throat gets lovely jitters when I think about this project. I have a few presses already in mind and don't want to think to horribly seriously about where to send this book which I have yet to form. But if you or somebody you know has a potential lead on a publisher which would be amenable to my work, style, and personality, please send me some info!
Development number 2 is mainly on the jobfront. I have decided (with some help from an incredible new acquaintance!) to apply for jobs in the tech writing field. I have previously let myself feel incompetent and intimidated about these kinds of jobs but well, screw that. I have a bitchin' handle on the written word and would like to be on the market for those skills specifically. Move over Grammar Nazis, I'm aiming to be Mother Teresa with my red pen (instead of a rosary).
Development #3 is more of an update. I am once again redoubling my efforts toward getting writers together. Last weekend I treated myself to a delicious writing group with a group of writers in Olympia (I moved away 5 months ago) and I was so deeply inspired that I NEED to make more space in my current town (Seattle) for writers to breathe out loud!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
My so-far review of Skin by Dorothy Allison
I just started reading Skin by Dorothy Allison. I so vocally loved and was so deeply touched by reading Bastard Out of Carolina this summer that a friend put Skin in my hands and really I am loving it already. I'm only one essay in but the bravery with which she calls out the complexity of the relationships people have with their cultural, sexual, and soci-economic places in society is thus far brilliant, astounding, and miraculously approachable.
I know it is intrinsically hopeless to compare feelings and situations of oppression however it is important for me to state that while I identify the with the feelings of non-entitlement and the feeling of "what if they found out I'm not really supposed to be here?" in academic and activist circles I recognize that my experiences growing up were nowhere near as violent and/or pronouncedly financially underprivileged. The feelings of pride in and love for family and the discontinuity with any cultural story/myth provided have thus far been beautifully expressed in Allison's words. I am very grateful for the bifurcation about the cultural stories surrounding the poor that she so articulately unmasks. If you are poor those in higher position only have two lenses to access your life: 1) you are squalid and deserving of both your hardships and the contempt in their eyes 2) You are honorable, hardworking and intrinsically good (in some cases willingly bearing the oppression seen as necessary to our cultural/financial infrastructure). You are either a silent, noble martyr or essentially a criminal.
When I look back at my past I definitely see myself operating under this paradigm. In the past I have felt like an imposter when I said I was a poet/writer. I wasn't published and certainly didn't feel initially included into or invited into writing communities (I remember a poster they had up at one point making a joke about homelessness). My legitimacy as a writer was dependent on the views of others (like the morality of the noble poor). I came to the social space of writing waiting for contempt and ready to be ashamed. I let the fact that I made mistakes and didn't always do the "right" thing make me feel undeserving of scholarships and grants which I shied away from applying for. I felt like I didn't have a language to talk about my family in academia, except in that characitured way.
After a few years of complaining to friends in conversations or classes about social justice that there was or seemed to be nothing written and really no vocabulary to even talk about classism (which funnily enough google crome refuses to recognize as a real word...) the way we talk about or write about other forms of oppression I feel deeply refreshed and affirmed by Allison's writing an perspective.
I am excited to read more and would highly recommend this book to anybody who has felt illegitimate in a community they chose and didn't know or maybe suspected why.
I know it is intrinsically hopeless to compare feelings and situations of oppression however it is important for me to state that while I identify the with the feelings of non-entitlement and the feeling of "what if they found out I'm not really supposed to be here?" in academic and activist circles I recognize that my experiences growing up were nowhere near as violent and/or pronouncedly financially underprivileged. The feelings of pride in and love for family and the discontinuity with any cultural story/myth provided have thus far been beautifully expressed in Allison's words. I am very grateful for the bifurcation about the cultural stories surrounding the poor that she so articulately unmasks. If you are poor those in higher position only have two lenses to access your life: 1) you are squalid and deserving of both your hardships and the contempt in their eyes 2) You are honorable, hardworking and intrinsically good (in some cases willingly bearing the oppression seen as necessary to our cultural/financial infrastructure). You are either a silent, noble martyr or essentially a criminal.
When I look back at my past I definitely see myself operating under this paradigm. In the past I have felt like an imposter when I said I was a poet/writer. I wasn't published and certainly didn't feel initially included into or invited into writing communities (I remember a poster they had up at one point making a joke about homelessness). My legitimacy as a writer was dependent on the views of others (like the morality of the noble poor). I came to the social space of writing waiting for contempt and ready to be ashamed. I let the fact that I made mistakes and didn't always do the "right" thing make me feel undeserving of scholarships and grants which I shied away from applying for. I felt like I didn't have a language to talk about my family in academia, except in that characitured way.
After a few years of complaining to friends in conversations or classes about social justice that there was or seemed to be nothing written and really no vocabulary to even talk about classism (which funnily enough google crome refuses to recognize as a real word...) the way we talk about or write about other forms of oppression I feel deeply refreshed and affirmed by Allison's writing an perspective.
I am excited to read more and would highly recommend this book to anybody who has felt illegitimate in a community they chose and didn't know or maybe suspected why.
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