Spring has reared it's ..

No, no. That's not going to work.

So, I've started reading Jack Hodgins: A Passion for Narrative. I'm also midway through Stephen King's: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. The two are quite different. I have to say I haven't read anything of King's before, but the book is an interesting read, and has decidedly given me a thing or two to contemplate. Passion comes from a slightly different angle, and has activities for the reader (nope, haven't done any yet). It's a much more focused book. I like them both, but neither touches Natalie Goldberg and Writing Down the Bones.

So, what do you like to read to hone your skills?

Life is going to be interesting in the next while.

A friend has been trying to motivate herself to write for some time now, specifically a novel that she's had floating around in her head (gee, I wouldn't know anything about that.. hahaha). So she decided to issue a challenge of sorts: twelve weeks, one novel. A sort of modified Nano challenge as there isn't a specific word count issued, and it is longer.

I have an idea that might work. Or I might break out one of the two fantasy novels that haven't been very helpful up to this point.

I still intend to polish more of my poetry and find it homes. This is a huge challenge for me, not only because I'm shy, but because the sheer amount of organization that this takes is really difficult for me. I have a notebook where I've written addresses, what's been submitted and when, and whats been accepted and where. However, as I write this I realize I've misplaced this notebook - not an easy feat, it is a large book with a hard cover. See? This is a statement on the state of my life.

I've started round VII in 30:30 again, gads this must be about the fifth or sixth time now. Really I'd rather just write poems, plop them there, and number them for a yearly count - to hell with missed days. Sadly I must be the voice of reason so that nobody else points fingers and claims that I'm not playing fair.

How about you?

*squeee*

I submitted some poems.

Why didn't someone tell me I'd feel this nervous??

Well, the editing seems to be going ahead full steam. I'm still of two minds about the whole process, trying to decide if I like it or not. It really is a different sort of approach to writing. My goal is to get the handful I picked at random ready to send out into the world. I think I have a grouping of three I'm going to try at Lily. Gee, aren't I getting brass ones?

My editting brain and my creating brain don't exactly communicate. This has been brought to bear in the past 24 hours where I went through four versions of a poem and couldn't come up with a daily poem to write. I have this half urge to just put the editted ones into the 30:30 and be done with it. Folks might stir, though.,

Natalie Goldberg remains one of my favourite authors on writing (yes, John, I used that extra u! There will be no dalliances between o and r in my writing!). That said, I started a book I've been intending to read for some time now - A Passion for Narrative, by Jack Hodgins. I haven't read far enough to know what I think of it, but I know a goodly number of folks who swear by the thing to imagine it worth my while. I'm almost done Stephen King's On Writing: a memoir of the craft (don't sue me if that title is wrong, it's off the top of my head).

I think a large problem I'm having lately is this crisis of faith I keep speaking of. I read my writing and read other people's writing, and I really wonder how to compare what I've done. Now, I know intellectually that I can't compare in the strictest of senses - we've all got our own voices. What I want to know, though, is that mine is strong enough to hold it's own. I did Nano last fall and all I can think is I've produced a piece - a rather large piece - of drivel. Do others read my work and have the same insecurities? In the end public or peers shall decide. I don't want to know I suck, which probably indicates a fear of failure.

Writing is exhausting. I know many people who can't understand that. They go to work, they come home, they watch television or crank their tunes, but they can't understand how this simple act of communication can suck the life right out of you. I often say I try for a body feel when I write. When I'm in the moment, I can feel it - it's a breathless, bouyant state where I am little more than a cipher for the words.

Some years ago now I sang in a mass choir at a local performance centre. It was terrifying nad exhilarating all at once to be up on stage in front of all those people. There was one song we sang acapella, leading in to an instrumental piece. I remember how, if we did it right, the last notes were so resonant that it felt like you might pass out if you couldn't sit down right then when the orchestra came in. /That/ is what writing is often like for me.

How about you?

So it seems that blogspot is where all the poets are. I feel compelled to write intelligent and poetic bits and pieces in self defence! Actually, it is hard to find a captive audience for those sorts of things. Gods but I'm missing university right now.

Back to the topic at hand - two things I need to do: 1) network (another thing I suck at) and 2) submit!

I'm trying to be braver. I need to polish stuff up first. Does anyone but me look at their old work and think "Gah, what shite!"? How do you deal with it?

These are my hands

These are my hands father,
I can hold them before you.
I can press my palm to your own

but only in my mind.

I have come here often
searching for you, torn with want.

I want you to be here.

I need you to be here.

I need you to be

These are my hands, father.
Not so strong as yours.
They craft and fashion this poor substitute
for you.


There are fingers on each hand
and I have counted them over and
over again. Their number
does not change.

I will tell you a secret:

they do not number even near
the times I have tried to write this pain.
Even were I to take your hands
within my own, and count
again, again

again.

So I take these hands,
these hands that have known you
only in reflection

and I write
one word after another
as though I were committing fingerprints
to mind.

These are my hands.


-LAP 03/06/06-

Hey, John?

On your page you've got a list of blogs - how did you do that? And how do you comment on a comment (I am so blogger impaired).

And if you want to see lame, http://liadra.livejournal.com

Some of it's protected.

This Blog's for You!

Well, for Susan anyway. I do most of my actual journalling over at livejournal, under the same name, though I have to admit that lately I've been a very lame writer, putting practically nothing of value to word.

So, what would you like to see here?