Inspiration struck the other day when I didn’t have my notebook on me. I scribbled the beginning of this poem as fast as I could on a scrap of paper before being interrupted–life tends to do that–and then lost the paper. The feel of it stuck with me so hard though that it carried over into Day 157, which I completed late last night, and which became its own poem. Then this morning, as I sat down to do today’s poem, I found the missing scrap of paper and found myself able to complete Day 156’s poem.
It is so strange how we can get fixated upon things. I could have written another poem for Day 156, there’s no real reason I couldn’t have, yet this poem was meant to be today’s and in my mind replacing it somehow seemed to disrespect the original creation, absurd as that is. Which in and of itself is a feeling worth exploring as this poem is basically a rant at my passion and the process by which I must produce. So. Many. Ideas. And they all need to be done now now now. Not just because my muses are screaming at me, but because that is the professional creative climate in which I find myself.
I believe some re-evaluation of the best kind may be in order.