Today is Thursday, April 2nd, the day after April Fools and day two of Operation: Poem A Day. We've survived the first day and a half. We've been accountable to one another, emailing our work. We found time in the day to be aware, take notes, and make ourselves write. I'm two poems in and it feels good. But it always does at this point, just like the first week of NaNoWriMo. Panic is a distant improbability when you're confident, but I know my stored rations of poem fodder may grow weary one day. We must prepare for those meager days of lacking inspiration. That's why you don't do this journey alone.
I've done most of my first bit of note taking and writing at the UT Medical Center. My mother is there. When I visit and take a break from in the room, I perch on a stool at their cafe. She's been at UT at least four times in the last two years. I've written - like the dam broke, writing - every time. The point is, we don't always get to choose where writing feels best, but we must write, mustn't we?
How do you know when you're a writer, a real writer, we hear some ask occasionally. When you'd find yourself writing in the middle of a tornado because you doubt you'd remember the details as well afterward, or just after a major panic attack when you thought you were dying (again), or in a back pew during a funeral service, or on your lover's back right after loving one another almost to death.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing will get in your way of writing if you're a writer, my lovely friends.
I've done most of my first bit of note taking and writing at the UT Medical Center. My mother is there. When I visit and take a break from in the room, I perch on a stool at their cafe. She's been at UT at least four times in the last two years. I've written - like the dam broke, writing - every time. The point is, we don't always get to choose where writing feels best, but we must write, mustn't we?
How do you know when you're a writer, a real writer, we hear some ask occasionally. When you'd find yourself writing in the middle of a tornado because you doubt you'd remember the details as well afterward, or just after a major panic attack when you thought you were dying (again), or in a back pew during a funeral service, or on your lover's back right after loving one another almost to death.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing will get in your way of writing if you're a writer, my lovely friends.