Category: writing

A Dead End

scm

In my worst nightmare, I am 5 or 6, riding in the back seat of my family’s car. My dad is driving up a steep mountain, around and around, almost like a child’s cylinder cone I used to play with. Suddenly, we stop. As we look out the front window, we realize the road has ended, as if it has fallen away.
A dead end.
I was thinking about this today when I read a piece about an artist’s need to balance control and risk. So often we find ourselves at a dead end, a place that seems to have no way out. A poem fails. A character loses authenticity. A sentence forces itself. We stop.
Our culture tells us failure means loss, an emptiness, a lack of worthiness. And yet, isn’t it in that space we often find ourselves?
This poem has failed at least five times:

TELL ME
I glimpse a second of your life
as the train barrels past Philadelphia and then south.
Smokey clouds pulse to rhythmic clacking
The toddler, too long in one place, runs up and down,
bumping into books and food, saying “Mama, Mama, Mama”
a thousand times.
And we ride along, managing our own stories

But, something in the telling makes me want to rewrite it again. I may finally pluck only the first line. But the poem will not have failed.
In my dream, my heroic dad manages to turn the car around inch by inch, until we are heading back down the mountain to safety.

I’d like to think I can turn this poem around as well.

#digiwrimo

Sticking to the Plan

scm

So, I’ve started to cook again, and by cook I mean, not follow recipes and hope for the best.

After reading Forks Over Knives last weekend, I am inspired to eat less meat. Ok, eat no meat. But so far, I’ve found myself visiting the grocery store every day, spending far too many hours chopping peppers and onions, and running back and forth to the oven to be sure dinner hasn’t burned.

Cooking isn’t my favorite activity. Last week, I’d pop into the butcher’s shop around 5 p.m., grab some chicken and a couple of potatoes, and then head home to bake and grill.  Boring but easy.

Now, my thinking about dinner starts way too early.  And I don’t follow recipes (that’s another post). To plan, prepare, and serve vegan dishes will be a monumental challenge. And I’ll probably fail at first. But at least I’m trying.

And that’s what I say about the poetry I’m working on. Some days, words flow and fit together like a cool puzzle. Other days, I want to close the door to my studio and go walk the dog. Which I do.

My tendency is to give up when I don’t have immediate success. But like running a half-marathon (or five!), there are no short cuts. Writing poetry and preparing vegan meals will take time, practice, and effort.

I’m in for the long haul.

 

#whatiwrite

scm

Someone asked me the other day why I don’t have comments enabled on the blog. After all, he said, a blog is a conversation.

True. And for years, I encouraged and responded to comments.

But a while ago, after having spent way too much time online in various social media, I discovered I needed a break. Time away from the conversations.

So, why do I write publicly? For me the blog is a record of sorts. When I go back through the years, I see posts from my days as an instructional technologist, trying to get folks to explore new ways of teaching:

And then the periods of teaching 8th and 9th grade English:

When my 8th graders dressed up to read Romeo and Juliet aloud:

As a community leader for a team of Aussie teachers in Powerful Learning Practice:

Sharing my thoughts with my kids in Virginia while I was with my dad in a hospital in Boston:

The December I began to question my involvement with social media…

Pushing myself into new writing territories with National Poetry Month:

And buying my first drum…

Unfortunately, I’ve lost the posts from 2004 to 2007, which makes me so sad. I’ve no record of my early days online and then in Connecticut, working for finalsite (a CMS provider). [edited: I found a link to my old typepad blog!]

I write to learn, to think, to share, to reflect. I’ve been writing in one way or another nearly all my life. Like a miner seeking gold, I often struggle to find the words. Those nuggets are precious, but I find myself pushed forward by the possibilities.

Mostly, I want these posts, all the links, and all the connections to be in one place. Here. Easily searched and categorized. Just for me.

Something tells me I might be ready for some conversation, too.

Grit

scm

I am compiling rejections from my poetry submissions. But, don’t feel sorry for me. Each one comes back, looking for a second, third,  or twentieth massage.

That’s what good writing takes–effort. And, holy cow, is this fun. Revising feels like a word game for introverts–the only competition is with myself.

When I’m not revising, I’m surfing/reading. I had no idea there were so many literary sites. Everyone wants to write these days, it seems. This is my newest find where I just read (and will share with my writing peeps) — this.

It’s like my own little MFA.