Sometimes I hate when I sit down to write and what comes out isn't what I had in mind. There's a certain amount of .. hesitation? Verbal constipation? Something-like going on.
That said, IX.10 today. A piece called worms - though it isn't what I'd intended at all. See, I've been thinking about growing up, and in particular visiting with my grandparents when I was young. I feel like I want to write something about that. Tonight, though, when I sat down, nothing would come. All I could think about was the stupid rain outside - three days now. Even writing about worms didn't work as I'd intended. I'd meant just to write about them simple; instead they became something else. And I wonder how often that happens to other people, and how they deal with it.
Do you school it in? Force some sort of guidelines upon it? Or do you take it as a sign from your muse that maybe there is something else going on that you need to give credit to.
Sometimes I think I know nothing at all about writing.
That said, IX.10 today. A piece called worms - though it isn't what I'd intended at all. See, I've been thinking about growing up, and in particular visiting with my grandparents when I was young. I feel like I want to write something about that. Tonight, though, when I sat down, nothing would come. All I could think about was the stupid rain outside - three days now. Even writing about worms didn't work as I'd intended. I'd meant just to write about them simple; instead they became something else. And I wonder how often that happens to other people, and how they deal with it.
Do you school it in? Force some sort of guidelines upon it? Or do you take it as a sign from your muse that maybe there is something else going on that you need to give credit to.
Sometimes I think I know nothing at all about writing.
posted by Liadra at 6:55 PM
2 Comments:
Believe me, you DO know about writing!
What you described here does happen to me too. And I always give in to the muse. She's a bear to argue with!
My work never takes a concrete direction until the third or fourth rewrite. Usually a poem bounces around as a line that gradually takes on a life of its own.
It's clearly seen in my finished efforts which lines live and which lines were killed with concentrated effort.
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