Choices–When Two Roads Diverge…

It’s been my experience that whatever I’m working on, including this blog, the universe is supplying continual content.  When I’m in that flow with my writing and I come up against a choice…that Robert Frost dilemma of “two roads diverged in a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel both…”  I can either figuratively pound my head trying to choose one over the other OR walk away and let the answer drift to me over the course of the day…or week or as long as it takes.  That’s being in the flow even when you’re away from your writing desk or artist easel. Sometimes, a whole other choice presents itself.

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Example.  When I’m crafting a creative writing workshop and I feel at at a loss about how to proceed, I go out in the world. I might go to Barnes and Noble. Sometimes,  a line leaps out at me from a book cover or as I randomly flip through the pages.  Or, I might be sipping tea in a cafe and overhear something spoken that is precisely what I need to hear to move my work forward.  Often, the next step inwardly presents itself to me as I walk beside the lake.  Ah, the surprising synchronicity of it all!

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The other day, standing in line at the local health food store, a bedraggled young woman stood opposite me in another line.  I had passed her, her partner and child earlier in the summer-crowded store.  Their odor was ripe. Later on, seeing her in the line across the way, she dropped the left flap of her dress exposing a flat tanned breast.  Her child, its arms and legs wrapped around her like-a-monkey-it’s-mother, latched onto the nipple and began to nurse.  The child was skinny, around two years old, hair matted, dirty and sad-faced, seemingly timid. The mother’s eyes had a vacant quality and it seemed likely that her breast was milkless, only for the child’s comfort in a strange place.

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I chose to include an unpolished rendition of this experience in today’s blog because when we witness something notable, we might not find a use for it in what we’re currently writing.  However, I suggest writing it down while it’s fresh in your mind. Then file it. You might find this recorded & filed memory useful at some future date.

We live in an abundant universe which continuously supplies prompts and content. How open are we to receiving them?

WRITING PROMPT:
What bit of inspiration crossed your path over this past day or week?  Was there something heard, smelled or seen (or tasted or touched) that could be used in what you are working on today?  Regardless of whether or not it is useful to what you are currently writing, do write it down in descriptive detail.

Writing down an experience is not a wasted effort–it’s practice.

The Fear & Dread of Poetry

I didn’t fall in love with poetry in high school.  Recently, I found “A Second Book of Poetry” from that period of my life.  The cover has doodles, appointments and names scribbled on it.  I must have had a teacher who encouraged us to write in our poetry books. Inside, I’ve taken notes and scrawled an ongoing commentary on many of the pages.

My formal education lapsed after high school as my father required that I get a job immediately to help support my younger siblings.  With an early marriage, life’s course was redirected once again.  In my thirties, I returned to college studying English and Creative Writing.  When we began the module on poetry, the instructor emphasized that within poetry you have total freedom; something inside of me sighed in deep relief. Never before in my life had I been told I had “total freedom”!  That was the moment that inner walls crumbled and I discovered a medium in which I could express my true self. POETRY!

I couldn’t have imagined how much my soul craved this expression!  I ran with it.  Every feeling and wayward thought found a home in free verse.  I didn’t bother with rhyming or other poetic forms in those days.  I wrote short or rambling, unpunctuated lines, upper or lower case letters, whatever flowed through me and demanded a voice.  Prior to this, journal writing had worked its own cathartic magic.  With poetry, feeling-imbued thoughts were given free rein and I was off and running…daily.  I remember times when I slipped from the bed to the floor with my pen and poetry journal in hand, writing poem after poem.  It was as if a long-muzzled creature had suddenly been freed and given voice–there was this and that and this and then that!

Writing Prompt:
Have you experienced a fear and dread of poetry? Did you have a coming of age where you finally began to appreciate poetry? Have you found and released your inner poet? Write about your poetic roots or initiation into poetry.

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Remember, you have total freedom in poetry.

Portals

Any writer, poet or artist seeks a portal, an opening, a place to begin.

Some mornings, I randomly pile books on my bed.  And I leaf through them, hoping for something to leap out at me.  When I crafted creative writing workshops, there was a certain magic that happened.  I had an idea that I was exploring and I’d open a book and the exact poem, quote or passage would find me!  That’s the thing, we never know where there might be an opening, a place to begin.  Yesterday, receiving news of a long-time friend’s serious illness, I was reminded that–ah, yes, sorrow and grief are portals.

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Following are a few quotes, stanzas from poems and excerpts from various books:

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“The body is the starting place for what we know,”  from Sheila Bender.

“While I did watch, Brave Horatius did come and stand by my side.  He looked up at me. In his eyes were askings.  I made explainings.  I told him, The sky is filled with clouds, which look like ships”  from Opal Whiteley.

and then:  from Denise Levertov,
“The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer…”

or Allen Ginsberg:
“All afternoon cutting bramble blackberries
off a tottering brown fence…”

and then, Wayne Dodd:
“All day I have been closed up
inside rooms, speaking of trivial matters.
Now at last I have come out
into the night, myself a center
of darkness.”

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The thing is that any of these excerpts, stanzas or quotes could be a portal that leads you or me into whatever we’re going to write about next.  (Noting, also, the privilege that is ours by tuning into these various writers’ voices and getting a sense of who they are and what they value.)

Are you curious?  That is one of a writer’s greatest gifts–curiosity.  You discover a portal, you enter, courageous once again, asking your questions, finding your answers while staying open for the unexpected.  Do you feel, at times, like the solo journeyer, the seeker, out in the universe on this great writer’s quest?

WRITING PROMPT:
Look for portals today.  Carry your pocket notebook or handheld recorder to archive anything that comes to your attention as a possible portal for your writing. Choose from one of these possibilities and write for thirty minutes. OR, borrow one of the excerpts above as your portal to today’s writing.

Are you surprised by where you went in your writing today?