I’m starting today with so many things I want to do and even more ideas. It’s both wonderful and frustrating. Certainly invigorating, though also easy to become paralyzed by decision overload. Here’s an attempt to share a little bit of what it’s like inside my head right now…
Baby steps to get back in the habit of daily poetry and blogging.
This is hardly a new concept for creatives—the naturally occurring limitations that necessitate creation and how by defining a thing we take away so much of it. What makes this poem interesting to me, however, was that I was originally thinking in terms of how people interact, communicate with, and relate to one another. Are our relationships really all that different from works of art or acts of creation?
Some fascinating new ideas about the nature of consciousness in the universe, courtesy of philosopher Philip Goff and his concept of panpsychism, came out today in Scientific America, inspiring this morning’s poem.
Realized this morning that I’ve once again got my days mislabeled in my poetry journal, and by extension, this blog. Dang it. Corrected them in the journal but I’m going to have to set aside some time to fix things online in the near future. At least today’s number is right…I hope.
I’ve got a bit of backlog again. I’ve been writing but not publishing my writing as I should. I’d intended to spread out several of these backed up poems out over the course of the day but the day had other plans. So did the next. And it has been brought to my attention that when a backlog such as this occurs, that those following his blog do not like being suddenly inundated with multiple updates. So, here is my attempt at compromise. One post. Three poems. Today’s own post will follow shortly.
This poem was written in an effort to recapture the loss of the poem, Creative’s Career, which I started in a moment of inspiration that was cut short and the scrap of paper I’d written it down on was thought lost. While the opening is very similar, It ultimately became its own thing. Every time I finish a book, my mind is overwhelmed with ideas. Many of them for entirely new projects or for things I’ve set aside to do later when often what I need to do most is push forward onto the next book in whatever series I’ve started. So many ideas. So many stories to tell. It’s a little overwhelming.
I have been my own worst enemy with my writing. I’ve said before that part of the reason I use pennames is because they give me permission to fail. Permission to simply write. In essence, when I go into a piece knowing that I am going to publicly claim it as my own, I am writing from a place of fear and I think it is undermining my efforts. That got me thinking about the nature of fear and courage and what is required of me with regards to both if I am to succeed as a professional creative. Perhaps what is required of many of us going forward.
There is a principle in professional investing that is difficult for many to wrap their heads around, let alone embrace, and which I feel applies to many areas of life. Diversify your investments. Bleed money. Aim wide. The idea is that you’re waiting for something called a “black swan,” which is to say the rare and unpredictable success. Something is going to do well eventually and it all boils down to a test of endurance. Waiting for that single critical moment to strike, the build off of. Then repeating the process over again.
Wait, Day 97? What happened to 96?
I missed it.
No excuse, I had an opportunity to do it during my break at work and I passed on. After that, when I got home I crashed. Hard. Been trying to do so much lately. Not the point.
I am proud that it took me 96 days before is missed a poem. New goal: try to go the rest of the year without missing another one. If I am to miss another, try to beat my 96 day streak.
Today’s poem is inspired by missing yesterday’s. I couldn’t tell you why Neverland and Peter Pan popped into my head, exactly, though in this context it certainly makes sense. Those stories are really depressing and downright frightening at their heart. Missed and stolen opportunities.
A piece of me mourns the loss of yesterday’s poem. It will never be written, never grow up, or go on adventures. It won’t even get to die because it was never born. Simply missed. An adventure not taken, an opportunity not explored. On the other hand, I am taking to heart why this is so valuable to me. The pursuit of dreams, seeing beauty realized and brought to fruition. Here is a rededication to never stop chasing the shine.
Thinking again about words. Was going to try and get clever by making something out of silly words but the harder I looked the more familiar the words became. Not so sure what that says about me. I gave up and made this instead. Not half bad, I don’t think.
More musings on creatives and the creative journey.
Thinking again about the creative process again. I watched the Oscars last night and finally completed revising my manuscript today. I cannot stop thinking about the necessity of momentum with regards to creation.
Every single artist, performer, writer and so on is called on to create again and again. The truth is that completing your project does not mark the crossing of the finish line, only a finish line. It’s onward, full steam ahead, to the next project.
Ever read a book or watch a movie and an explanation is given for something that makes absolutely no sense? That is to say, the explanation is simply flat out weak or stupid. In fact, if the explanation had not been given, the issue that it was trying to explain away in the first place wouldn’t even be an issue. You’d glide right past it, happily immersed in the world of the story. Then this happens, and you start to think, and the holes open up.
Sometimes things are better left alone and the world created in the hearts and minds of creator and viewer alike simply allowed to be.
The Everyday Poet 