Would That I Might

I am considering quite a few ideas for things to write.  For one thing, I am considering an idea for a series of poems, but the idea is still very new and I am not yet certain about it.  As well, I am considering writing some of my recent thoughts to do with the political situation in America.  It seems that their must be some level at which certain values exist that make sense in both contexts.  This is not to say that both are equal, and I am certainly not a centrist.  I grew up in a liberal home and have always carried many of those values, though I am skeptical that the traditional left in this country is quite limited in its thinking.  The point is not to change my own perspective, or to defend the right, who are often promoting dangerous and absurd ideas (for example, Ben Shapiro speaking of the need to be rid of empathy in politics, which literally is a call for sociopathy in our leaders), but I also recognize the failure of logic in so much of this disagreement, and I think I a

Hurricane Preparation It is not clear yet what will come when the storm makes land, but we must be prepared: it may be disaster, we may lose power or have windows break, flooding.  It is not clear what the storm will be, and I do not know if the year has been so bad we have earned some leniency, or if we must see how everything has been its worst so far, that this too will bring another type of tragedy, will make all the rest just what brought us here.

I am still working on that story.  I did write more today, but it was not a great deal.  I'm closing in on the end, and I am kind of savoring it, I suppose, allowing myself to take my time with it.  I have been slacking off this week, and I know it, but that is not the worst thing in the world, as I have said before, and I am still writing each day, not just the fiction, but also more poetry.  I should make myself do a bit more writing, and I am hoping to get myself back into a higher gear in the near future, but I am still feeling quite low, and that has an impact.  I have written many poems of late, and it becomes a bit hard to keep doing it these days, not only because of my own difficulties getting work published, but because I am alive and aware in 2020.  I suppose I am lucky to be doing any creative work, let alone to have gotten myself through so much of this year without losing my impetus to create, but a part of that work was a response to things happening in the world, an

It Is What We Know It may be too long after to find out what happened, but we tell stories that were the ones we have been told and do not worry that they may not be the truth of what came that led us to be as we are, because we cannot know, though it is what made us, how we cannot know.

I am closing in on the end of the current story, and I am contemplating what I want to begin next.  I have an idea for a possible idea, but I think it would require the scope of a novel.  It is also a rather strange and complicated idea, but I do have a sense of how to approach it, at least.  The central notion is to do with a message from the future that cannot include specific information but is still intended to create some impact to guide humanity through some danger.  That is a basic notion of the premise, which may sound rather banal and similar to other ideas that have been explored before, and I do agree, but I think I have some thoughts on how to do it that make it more interesting and not as cliche.  I'm attempting to get some of the stories I've written in the past few years out to journals.  It is my hope that, perhaps, I might have a bit more luck with fiction editors, as my work might stand out a bit more, in ways that, I hope, are positive.  I think my fiction te

I Have Lived with The Crabs So Long it is impossible to even recall the sensation of man-walking, I siddle, as they do, though I have only two legs, but I have perfected my capacity to use each hand to pince, have made them hard, calloused. They are not claws, of course, but they serve me well enough, will snatch shrimp with ease, it is all a knack.   I have learned it, have learned to be as the others, all these crabs here, in the depths, where I am glad to be, and I forget enough to think as a crab, to be enough a crab, though I cannot recall why it is my preference.

I am enjoying working on that story far more than I had been.  The ending seems to be in sight, and is out of left field, yet also in line with ideas I had from the start.  It got to a point in the plot where I was sort of hung up on how to move forward.  I'd had an idea of where it was going, but realized that direction would not work.  I could have shoe-horned that ending in, but it did not seem authentic or satisfying, so I asked myself what the character should do, just for that moment, and followed that a bit, but was still uncertain about where I was headed in a larger sense for the plot, but at some point, an idea had emerged, and it took me in a new direction before I had even really recognized what was happening.  It feels a bit dangerous, as an ending, to be honest, as it does come from out of left field to an extent, but I also realized that it lines up with many ideas that had already been present in the story, things I'd considered from the start, and is also an op

The Oppressor Always Seeks Their Freedom For so long we did not have rules, civilization, the whole social contract: no one had signed anything or made such agreements, so everyone could do anything that they wanted, which is the idea we often call freedom, but if everyone is that free, they do not have a reason to accept that others deserve any of their own freedom, so it was decided to give up some freedom to create more equality, more opportunities for more people to have access to some degree of freedom, though for many it was not at all freedom, was instead subjugation to those with the power who shared the freedom only among themselves, and we have tried to move in the direction of sharing it in more equal ways, of allowing more people to have more freedom, that has been progress, and it may be time to ask who has the freedom now and how they can share more, even though it may mean they must give away  a bit of their own rights, the rights built to let them do more by keeping oth

This past week, I've been less productive than in recent times.  I am still writing each day, and I recognize that as an important practice.  I need to keep going, even when I am feeling less than inspired, but I am also entitled to take a bit of a break.  What's funny is the way that I have changed my perspective in terms of the work itself.  For a long time, even just writing each day was difficult, and it would have felt a massive change to do any work at all, but now, I feel like I am slacking off, though I still wrote multiple poems and worked on my fiction.  I think that I may want to get myself back on a regular schedule again, but the question is balance.  I am tempted to push myself to do the same amount of work as before, but I am thinking that might be too much.  It may be that I will wait a bit longer to make a real decision about that and just see how I do without a quota.  I've still been productive, even if not to the same degree, and considering that all the

I Met A Talking Squirrel It claimed it was not a squirrel, though it looked to be one in every way and was carrying an acorn, but it spoke quite well and I had not met an eloquent squirrel before, was surprised at the quality of its sentences, which may be why I was inclined to believe it, to listen as it asked for help, told me how he had been a boy with a love of mischief, had angered the lord of the squirrels by breaking open an acorn store well before winter, just for the fun of it, and the next morning he woke up a squirrel, and now he needed to get every acorn that he could, replace the ones he had knocked loose, asked if I could help, said he had not found any nuts in hours, cried to me of his desire to return home before nightfall, painted a portrait of his mother waiting in the half-light of a doorway, or staring out a window, and so I fell for it, ran out to the store and bought a big bucket of chestnuts, the closest I could find to acorns at the local market, and it seemed g

I am beginning to get back in the swing with my work, I think.  I wrote a few more poems than I had in the past several days, and I felt good about the direction that I think my story is going.  It had been a bit slow, and I did not write a great deal today, but I think it sets a direction for the next segment that is a bit off from where I had been expecting to go, though it lines up with ideas I had from the start.  It is another of these things where the story just seems to have a sense of where it wants to go.  I am still feeling quite stressed about things, and I know I need to find a way out of my current predicament, and those issues still remain for me.  I am not certain what to do.  I've tried to put energy into other things, but it does not really help, as I just feel as if I am distracting myself.  I need to find a way to feel a sense of genuine progress, as I've said a million times already.  It is no good to keep running in this circle, and today, I was in a mood t

I Do Not Have A Poem for You Tonight It would be best not to discuss what happened, it is sad and a bit embarrassing, does not involve anything as silly as a dog desiring to munch down fiber, is not that at all, it is only me running a bit slow, feeling empty, as the stomach of a creature so famished by a child with a desire not to work so strong, it is easier to wait, to not feed the dog so it will desire anything it is offered, even paper.  What I can find to fill myself is no more filling than the paper.

I am still working at a slower pace right now.  I would like to get a bit more done, but I also recognize that I am struggling right now.  The stress of the world at the moment is not easy to manage.  Working has been a way for me to feel I have been doing something, even in this time, but the lack of progress I am making, combined with a few more recent experiences, and I am just feeling less enthused.  Right now, I am in a situation that feels so out of my control on so many levels, and I feel that I cannot even determine what to do, or if my actions are helping anything, and I need to figure out how to move past that.  I have no idea how, or even what it means, because I just cannot get to a place of comfort in my current predicament, not without some way to assess that I am making progress, and I recognize that this is not something I can find, that their is not an answer to my predicament, but I also recognize, at the same time, but I also know that this is not good for me mentall

The Cat Always Loved You Each time you come, I think of the how he would always be at the door to greet you, which you did not know was not his way with everyone: there were some who he would sense coming and run to hide in my office closet, but for you, he always came to the door, and I am saddened thinking of it, but glad you, who he loved so, have come again.

I had trouble getting myself to start working today, and was not as productive as I might have liked, but I think that it is important, right now, that I let myself relax a bit.  In some ways, I know that working so much is not helping me to achieve my goals yet.  I can write as much as I want, it will not create a change in my publishing situation.  Driving myself insane with a quota of work is not a solution to that problem.  I don't have any idea what is a solution, since I do not have any sense of how to determine my progress in relation to those goals, though writing daily is essential for me in many ways that connect to that goal.  In the end, however, the progress of writing more was not serving as a replacement, and often made me feel worse when I looked at the growing pile of unpublished work.  I hope this is a positive step for me.  I certainly believe that it is, though it just leaves me staring at the same problems without my security blanket

Is This Your Honest Opininon? It may have all been my own imagination, or it could be true: I cannot be certain what was inside your mind then, when you wrote that little note, if you were saying what you believed or using the opportunity to manipulate me, to put forth an opinion that you did not believe but which you presented as a lesson, as a way to correct my behavior, as if that were your role, and if it were, at the least I would hope for respect enough to discuss the matter together, not to falsify an experience in Hope's of showing me how I am wrong, but it could be imagined, I admit that, but it is enough I believe it might be true.

I've been attempting to consider my publishing situation in ways that might provide some insight.  In the end, the thing that I feel I need is the ability to determine that I am progressing towards my goal.  In this regard, I mean that in terms of publishing in specific.  I can be certain of the quality of a poem and still not know how publishable it is.  That is a different matter, in reality.  A great many writers who we applaud now never had success getting work published in their life, and I do not want to be another of those.  I want to be certain that my work is making it into the world while I am alive to know it is happening.  But, that is not what I was intending to get at.  My point was simply that I am focusing on the question of how I can know I am progressing towards getting published. Earlier in my efforts, it was easy to see an accumulation of submissions as evidence that I was progressing, because it represented a next step for me.  I had not been sending work out

So Glad I Got You to Come It is not for this that you are here, though you were invited with the claim that it would be for this reason, and it is important to you, is the reason you came here, might be the one reason that could bring you here, which is why it was the reason that we gave, but you must be smart enough that you could be certain it was also the one reason you would never be brought, that it would never be a thing you would ever be invited for, you had to know that. If I had thought you might believe it, it would not have been the thing that was said, because it was not intended you should be deceived, should believe what was promised, but it was just so important to get you here for my own reasons.

I have been considering, for some time now, how to explain certain concepts and approaches I have in terms of my writing.  Now, these are not always my concerns, and not everything I write is obsessed with these ideas, but they are concepts that I find very much worth exploring, and which I believe are often not discussed or considered by most writers.  Yet, what I want to speak about is a layer of experience for the reader as they interact with the work, and is one that is also one that is outside the normal awareness of readers and impacts upon it can reach outside the text in a way that is not typical.  It is a dimension of experience that is not looked at in most discussions of craft, beyond a single basic approach and intent. I'm certain that some who read that will think I am attempting to sell something, and I am sure, as well, that when I explain what I am discussing, it will cause a some to think I am silly or mad, or perhaps that this is just misguided, but I want to di

The First Butterflies One day, on the trees there were great buds that drooped down, hung there, strange, not like other buds but that is what it must have been, and they knew buds could blossom or were these fruit that would ripen? They watched, each day waited to see what would grow, but when the flowers which broke free flew off to the sky, how would anyone feel knowing such a moment?

If I am to be honest here, and why not, I need to acknowledge that I am still feeling rather down about my current difficulties getting work published.  I have discussed this many times, and I don't really want to get into it again.  I am trying to figure out a way to feel that I am making real progress in terms of my career goals.  Relying upon writing more and more until I burn out is just a recipe for disaster, and I am glad to have decided to regulate that tendency before I exploded altogether.  Though I am taking it a bit lighter at the moment, I am continuing to work on multiple pieces, between that long poem, the fiction I am writing, and other poems that I am writing as well.  I am doing less work, and I do feel a bit of guilt about that, but I also know it was needed.  At the same time, it leaves me without a coping mechanism, one that I admit did not do a great job in the end.  I am too aware of the difference between writing and getting work published, and am focused u

Out of Nowhere, The Solution Became Clear I do not know if that is a thought that is original or if it has been had many times before but it seems different than what I see as the thinking that is present in the discussion, and that might mean it is a new idea worth discussing, or it may mean others have thought it already and are smart enough to have decided it is not worth discussing, and I do not want to say anything if it might make me look dumb, even if it is a good idea, it is better to say nothing in case I am wrong.

I am feeling quite good about the choice to slow down a bit.  Their is still a great deal of writing coming, but I am not stressing myself to keep pace, and I feel a bit less anxious about starting my writing each day.  I was beginning to get some negative feelings around that, and I know those are bad signs and can lead to trouble, but I feel much less anxious about doing the work when I am not putting that kind of pressure on myself, at least right now.  I am sure I will, at some point, want to press myself again, and it is a practice that works well for me, but I also realize it is not the only way that works and that their are times when I must shift in response to my life. In terms of the specifics of the work, I am still working on that long poem, which seems to be going well and is spreading into more and more territory, though I am not certain how it all fits together quite yet.  It is not disconnected in terms of theme and many of the ideas, but it is ranging quite far.  The

The Decision Is Made but until the others know it does not matter, is only the idea of it, because it is not acted upon until they know and respond, then it is done, but now is just knowing what the decision is, it is made but not enacted, and it must be enacted, it must be, do not make them wait to know, it is not fair they should wait, it is your decision, but they need to know.

I am continuing work on that long poem, though again, I did write other poetry today, even if not quite as much as I had been.  I also added more to that story, which, as I have said, is very different and lighter than much of my recent work, but I am enjoying the adventure of it, and I mean that in both the plot of the story and in the adventure of writing it.  I think it was a good choice to back off the work a bit, in terms of the specific amount.  I am writing daily and have a great amount of work already as well, so slowing down is not really limiting me, but is instead allowing me to focus on specific work.  I am not certain this long poem is anything but a ramble at the moment, but it feels important for me to write it, and I think it may have things to say that I need to be able to express.  It is much more direct and bold than a lot of the work I tend to do, and I am allowing it to just keep going, to let myself get things out.  It is a liberating thing in and of itself, no ma

This Time, I Must Walk Away I wish I had the strength or the desire to tell my thoughts to each of you, but I can see that if I did you would not hear what I am saying, would think anything I mention a problem I have, one I created, would not imagine these things to be real problems in the world that existed already without your awareness, though you act in ways that are contributing. I want to tell you what it is I can see, but it is clear, it would not work, would make you feel as if you are attacked, as if I am your enemy, and I cannot see how that will do anything but bring me danger and push you farther in the wrong direction.

Last night, as I mentioned, I began work on a longer poem, and I have continued that today.  It is right now at around eight pages, I think, and I am certain there is more.  It is not the only poetry I wrote today, but it was the bulk of my work in that area,  As well, I continued writing that story, and am still very excited about it.  I think their is a great deal of fun in it, and it seems quite a bit more of a romp than most of the fiction I have written of late, but still has a lot going on in it that I am finding entertaining.  It feels less experimental to me at the moment, but I think the ending may take a small twist, or at least imply one, as I know it was set up from the start, and their are small amounts of information in the text already.  It may be that to make what I am thinking is coming work well, I will need to go back and do a bit more to support what is coming, but I am not certain, and I cannot even tell if what I think will happen is the ending or not, let alone w

I Will Let You Know The Secret It is my promise, I will teach you the secret, will make certain you know all that I can show you so you can do each thing that I do, have all the things which I've achieved, but I must make you ready, you must show you are ready, so first, you must do all that I say, and never ask why I want you to do it or if it is important, do not think you know, because it is my secret, I am the one who is in charge, and if you upset me at all I do not think I will want to share, no, I can be certain to say anything against me will mean you are not worthy, since the biggest secret is the one that allows me to get all the things I want from people like you who want me to share all the tricks I use to get so much of what I desire.

I decided, as I have been tending towards, to give myself more slack.  I am not, at the moment, counting my poems, but instead am just making the effort to write some, and to continue work on my fiction as well.  I did not write that many poems tonight, but I began work on a piece that has become quite long and involved, which is dealing with a great many serious issues that have been in my mind of late, some of which I have been attempting to write about but which have been difficult to get down in a way that feels right.  I think a part of this is the need to take a longer approach.  Many of these were ideas I felt could be the basis for a very good essay, or a group of essays, but I felt the need to embrace the potential of approaching a serious intellectual topic through poetry instead.  I think it is allowing me to feel a greater freedom, and even if the poem that results is not good, I think the act of sorting through and expressing ideas in this way is itself helpful and may wel

Not A Mirror for Me The others looked and said they were glad to see themselves, and I did not notice that I was not there, never realized it until now, until it had been true for so long my not noticing becomes a bigger question than my own absence,

I decided to make tonight a lighter evening and try to be in bed a bit earlier as well, since I am going to have a full day tomorrow, and don't want to be overly tired for it.  As such I did not write all the poems I usually would, though I am aware that it is silly to be saying that when I still wrote eleven poems today, and also worked on the story I have going this week.  Five of those poems, of course, made up for yesterday's undone work, but I also realize that I need to get a better balance going, and that allowing myself a bit of flexibility is, as I said yesterday, an important part of being sympathetic to myself.  I am afraid to loosen up about my schedule for many reasons.  I know a large part is fear that I might stop writing again, but I am not stopping, I just wrote a bit less today, and I am not certain what that means for my output tomorrow, but I know I will write.  Second, I think it is a way to stave off some of the feelings of failure I have related to my pub

Now That It Is You I do not disagree that this is upsetting, am not excusing the behavior or condoning it, accepting it- none of that.  No, I am maddened by this too, see the display of hatred for what it is, but what I wonder is why so many stand here now because of this when so many times their have been cries of similar sorts for others, situations where what was done or said was as bad or worse, and the one's speaking were in positions not unlike that of those you rail against, but those times the attack did not merit such sympathy, the hatred was as clear, as dangerous, came from a platform that was just as high, but the victims were not those you choose to care about.

I decided to keep following the same strategy as yesterday and set a cutoff time for my work.  I was able to make up what I had not done yesterday, and I am not far off from the same amount remaining today, so it does not feel that I am slipping, just reorganizing in order to make things more functional.  As I said last night, I know I need to find a way to be more flexible, and need to be more compassionate with myself about being perfect with my work.  I am not going to allow myself to take time off from writing at any point soon, but I do see the need to balance what I expect of myself in my work with other needs in my life.  I want to make this sustainable for me, and I can't stay awake all night, every night in order to work.  I think the steps I am taking now are the first towards making a positive shift that will keep me productive while making accommodations for the rest of my life.

Just A Whisper would be enough for all to hear, but you have forgotten the needed words, have spent so long without speaking them, they do not return, and your voice itself has left you, knows it is not needed when you cannot speak the only thing that could be heard.

I have been sleeping far too little this week, not only due to the work I am keeping up with, but that has been a contributing factor.  I am still wanting to keep up with it, but I decided I need to get to bed earlier, at least a bit.  When it is near three and you are saying you are getting to bed early, well, that is something.  I am hoping that I will get up and get to work in order to make up for what I left undone tonight (which is not that much of the work, to be honest, is only two poems).  I am pushing myself hard, and part of that is in order to keep myself going in spite of the many things happening around me, both in my life and in the world, and also as a response to the many years I spent idle as a writer.  I want to keep going, but I am also aware of the need to give myself balance and compassion for times when I may not be able to keep up.

Up Working Too Late, Again I said I would stop by now, but I am close to done, and I want to finish, not leave this until tomorrow, but that will mean I am not in bed when I said I would be, and I can do the work still, even in the morning, and perhaps the guilt I feel not finishing well get me to start at an earlier time, in the way I should, in the way I know I really should.

Another late night, of course.  I got my work done, and am still feeling good about the story.  Some of the poems tonight were a bit indulgent, as I was agitated.  I have had some recent experiences that have me a bit upset to begin with, and then I received two more rejections within a half hour this morning, and I wrote a number of poems that were responses to the feelings and the events surrounding them.  I do not know that these serve any function but as a way to just get it out of my system a bit so I can write other things, but it may be that they have an energy or other qualities born of rawness and the emotion itself.  I do not think that is likely, but if they do nothing but clear space for other ideas, that makes them valuable in their own way.

Differing Parameters You wish to focus on subtle color but I am color-blind, prefer to work by shape, with bold lines, but you say it must not be that, must be calmer, quieter, that it is too much to have so much action, to have shapes with strong lines, but I cannot see all of what matters to you, am navigating the world with different perceptions, and we must find a way to see things together so what we create will be harmonious in both our sight.

It is late, but is not five am again, at least, so that is an improvement.  I hope that I can continue moving my schedule back to a more reasonable one in the next few days.  As for tonight, I am feeling good about the work.  Some of the poems I am writing at the moment get very strange, but I feel they are doing interesting things, as I have said before, and I am finding that the fiction writing is going really well.  I am very much enjoying this story at the moment, and I think it is going to be quite entertaining when it is done, as well as having a bit of a kicker to it, if I can make it work.  At present, I am still not even certain of the specifics in terms of where it is going, but I feel quite enthused by the work I am doing on it.  I again stopped with a bit of a sense of what is coming up next, though not as much of an idea yet.  Also, I am thinking that I may have an inkling of an idea for the story after this, though I am in no rush to be done with this one.

How to Write This Poem I am not able to say how, not yet, as I have not done it, am still in the process of discovering how to write this poem, though I can say how to write many other poems, I do not yet have the answer for how to write this one, not all of that answer, at least, and by the time I know how it is done, am certain how to do it, I will not be able to write it here in this poem which I will have just completed.

It is another night where I have been up until almost dawn writing.  It has been good, in terms of the work, but I know I need to change things.  It may be I need to change my writing output to something a bit more reasonable, but that is not a solution I like.  If it is necessary, though, I will find a way to change it.  I think being more flexible in terms of when I write my fiction in my schedule may help.  Anyhow, it is quite late, or rather early, so I calling it a night.

Almost Dawn Light will come soon and I am still sitting here attempting to complete yesterday's work, and tomorrow will come with more to do, and I must hope when I wake it will not be so late I am here again tomorrow.

It is another very late night of writing, but I did get started on a new story that I am enjoying working on and which seems to be coming out with a certain ease so far, though that may be enough to jinx it.  I do have a strong sense of what is coming next, and chose to stop work before I got to a certain part of the story I already see in my mind, and had considered using as the start at one point, but decided it was best to leave for later.  Part of the reason for the decision to stop when I did (aside from the recognition that I had other work and it was already late) was in order to have a place to start tomorrow, though that does not seem a problem with my fiction most of the time at the moment.  I feel quite good with my writing habits in terms of output at the moment, though my schedule is ridiculous at times.  I am also a bit concerned about my fiction beginning to repeat certain structures, or themes in a way that feels as if it might be worth fighting.  The story I am worki

We Have Rules Here The behavior you show should be better than that because you are a member of a community, a society, are not alone in the jungle, are connected to the rest of us, so you must behave, because it is quite possible if you are bad and do not learn to be the kind of person by others, the kind who behaves, who acts the way others will say you should, because they have learned already that they should be good too and get along in this community, because it is much better to not be a person we do not want here, a person who is not at all able to be one of us any longer, who has not behaved in the ways that make you useful and productive and not a nuisance to anyone, because that is what is wanted here, is what will be allowed as good behavior by anyone who does not wish to be a person that we do not want around at all.

I finished writing the first draft of my newest short story, and I am happy about the way it turned out, though I am always a bit uncertain with my fiction.  I think it is, in some ways, a more traditional seeming story, though it has a lot packed into it and is written in ways that display some unique approaches.  I do feel it demonstrates a movement in my fiction towards a certain understanding of how to write a more cohesive narrative without giving up many of the other things I find intriguing, though I don't know if that is really what I mean.  I think it does a good job of blending a more traditional narrative frame with ideas and approaches that I find intriguing and which are not found in most mainstream fiction, but that is my impression.  It may be that another person will see it as very strange, or I may be wrong and they just think of it as fairly normal in terms of narrative structure at least.  I am certain the actual story will not seem typical to most readers, as it

No Rats Guaranteed We are very proud to say that we can be certain there are no rats here, as we have a great number of mice in our premises, and the mice are quite clear that they will not share their home with even a single rat, so. by order of the management all the vermin here are mice, that is all that we have around, and if you have cheese that is stolen, you can be calm in your absolute assurance who it was that took it, can have confidence it was not taken by any impostors, though I have been told mice much prefer many things that are not cheese, but I think the ones we have know it is best to keep up appearances.

It is already nearing morning, and I am just finishing up my work, but I do feel quite good about all I have accomplished today.  I am really getting a good sense of that story I am writing, and I feel I know even more of where it is going, with a real understanding of it in a way that fills in a lot of details I was uncertain of.  I am always surprised the way this can happen, as it is never clear to me if the small things that come back to be important were there as clues to me of what I had unconsciously planned or if it is that I build the rest out of what has come already, or if it is some combination.  I do suspect it is a bit of both, but the magic remains in my being unable to tell what is what.  I also had an idea that I thing might help bring that novel I am considering into focus, but it is a quite strange idea, and I know it will require a great amount of work to prepare it if I follow the idea I am considering, as I would need to have a great deal of the book planned and

Why Call This An Experiment when it is clear you are involved in repeating the same process of reproduction that was established and is the basis for most of the work in the field today? Not to say there is anything wrong with the work done, in terms of quality or type, but it is not an experiment, does not need that word, does not reflect the meaning it carries.

I am quite happy with the work on the story that I am currently writing.  It is taking shape and I am becoming more and more aware of the world it is building, the events around it.  Their is a level at which it is a very strange sort of world, but one that makes sense to me, and which is not all explained, but is cohesive as well.  I think that I know the information I was needing in order to keep moving forward, and I feel myself approaching an ending soon, if not tomorrow, in a couple of days.  I still have quite a bit to relay, so I might be wrong, it may only be my sense that I know what the ending is, generally, but it is not clear all of what it will take to arrive there.  I'm also wanting to mention something relating to an online workshop that I am enrolled in and which begins this week.  I began to receive manuscripts and read them, and have been rather upset to find that a majority are novels that involve police as the main protagonists, and I am not certain how to dea

This One Is Fresh I could have taken one of those and brought it instead of making this fresh.  I did make more than I needed before this, made enough it would not have been missed, but I do not think that is an excuse, is any reason that I should choose to do less work now, just because I did too much when it was there, that does not mean there is less work to be done or that I have any excuse for doing it less well.

I want to pick up from some of what I was discussing last night, as I think some of what I mentioned about meaning is unclear and can be misconstrued.  I do not mean that I am not responsible for imbuing my work with intentional meaning, or that I do not have purpose in what I want to communicate, rather, I am acknowledging the reality that their is far more meaning in a work that I cannot control than what I can intend to put in.  This is true both in terms of my own role, in that their are many ways in which meaning is created by a writer outside their direct awareness or control, and I often find that poems have aspects to them that are far more interesting than I knew I was considering, but still reverberated with meaning that resonated with my original intent.  That is, the process of writing a poem brings out more meaning, whether I consider that something I am adding unconsciously or just a part of what it is to create in this way and likely in most others.  At the same time, th

It Has Not Been What I Was Expecting is not seeming to meet the standards I anticipated I would find, but I will attempt to remain open, to recognize it may be more than I think, but I cannot be sure it is not too late, that my attitude is not entrenched despite my desire to keep from judging so soon, before it has had a chance to do more than begin, is not even begun by some measures, is still preliminary, but it may already be too late, I do not choose all my attitudes, am not a machine, and what I have noticed has already impacted me, made me consider what is likely to come, to see what is before me and form new expectations that do not match what I had desired, but they have not come, I must remember they have not yet come, no matter if I feel certain, I can remember it is not yet so.

I am finding the story I am writing a bit more difficult at the moment, but I know that working on it each day, I will get there.  I have a sense of it, but am not certain yet of how it will turn out,  At the moment, it actually does feel more of a traditional adventure narrative, in many ways, but I think their is more going on within it that I have yet to discover.  I have, again, found those moments when I was aware of that I wrote something on the spur of the moment which implied other ideas I had not considered in my awareness, but which made perfect sense, even bridging gaps between ideas I had been struggling to comprehend.  I tend to trust that sort of occurrence as evidence that I am moving in the right direction with the story, so even if I am uncertain about the larger picture, I trust the process.  If I think about it, the previous story was also a bit unclear to me for a while, as I wrote.  The big difference is that this new story is more plot driven and their are certain

I Would Talk about It Daily but it is no good to say it again, though I do still carry a breaking, that remains, continues, is not improved with time, or with the time that has been since it began, since the feeling of cracking glass inside, since the moment when it was severed, when their could be no chance, when that last day had already passed, but I do not say it, do not allow my heart's beating to become so loud as to disturb your attempt at keeping peace, no, I am hurt enough to need no more, so I do not speak of it, not to you.

It being Independence Day, and this being such an extreme year, I am not certain what to say tonight.  I almost did not mark the occasion on this blog at all, was not even remembering it, but then it came back to mind, just in time.  Perhaps it is the lack of fireworks that caused the slippage of my memory, though I did hear a few stray one's earlier, and though it could have been the thunderstorm.  In any case, I am not really certain what to say tonight.  So much is happening, it is not clear if we will move in the directions our values should lead us or towards even darker times.  Both seem possible, in many ways, and it is also clear that we cannot wait.  Today's infection numbers are a clear indication of this, as are so many of the things in the news daily.  I am not certain what to say, but I do think it is worth considering the questions of our nation's history, of our present, and to consider that we who are citizens here are also the owners of this nation in a w

We Decided to Get A Second Moon The kids wanted it, were on about how everyone they know has more than one moon, how it was the cool new thing and they wanted their family to be as cool as the rest, which was sweet, if manipulative, and they have done well tracking the migrations, keeping charts of the weather, and they wanted it enough to keep on for several cycles of the moon we had, plus, they did most of the work to keep the moon going, cleaning it, checking that their is no orbital decline, so we were not about to fight over it when a second moon is not any sort of a big deal, not the way the commercials talk, as if they have it all figured out now, but it is wreaking havoc with our tides now, and the orbit is not yet stable, so we can't really say what will be happening when or where on the surface, but the kids are very much enjoying seeing it in the sky, and that smile is quite valuable, though the tidal waves will take many things of great value as well.

I was able to get started on that new story, and it is taking shape for me, already, though I only wrote a page or so at this point.  It is very exciting to be working on fiction with this kind of steady pace.  I have been writing poetry for a long time, but the effort at fiction has been slower and less successful, for the most part.  I have written some fiction in past several years, but since I began sincere work on poetry, I have wanted to get to the point of writing fiction as a part of my daily practice as well, but now is the first time that has worked for me.  I feel enthused that I am getting so much done now, and am glad to find that I am finding myself writing fiction with the same kind of consistency as poetry. While I am also proud of the work I am doing, I do not know if the fiction is all that great, if I am honest.  I believe in it, and I think that the kind of work I am interested in exploring, work that attempts to press beyond the assumed limits of fiction, is impo

Was It A Year Ago? It must be a year, but it feels as if their have been too many things for it to be a year, all that has been, the too much of our recent lives, and even before, all this is so different, this life would not be that one now, even without disease, without protests, without the politicizing of public safety decisions, it would not be the same, the life I am in now, it takes place here in a house that is not the one you came to then, and that would be enough, is a change that carries through each day after it occurs, but it is the cat, is his death a week after we moved and before his fourth birthday, it is missing the cat: any death is the end of  a world, I cannot live in that one any longer, would not be there, even without this overwhelm of a year, the distance to the past he remains in would still feel this great.  

I finished the first draft of the story I have been working on, and I think the ending is good, but it may not yet be a complete fit.  I did not expect the ending to be as it was, though it makes sense to me, and their is a sense of coming to the place that is reasonable, but I think it may need to be smoothed out a bit, may need to have earlier moments in the story that bring themes and ideas in earlier so it works better.  As well, I think the end may be a bit blunt right now, in some ways, and I worry if their is too much ambiguity in the piece, as it is not all clear, but I am hoping the character's methods and thinking will do much of the work.  In many ways, it is an effort to create something that does not have any real element of traditional plot, though there is a sense of event and an assumed narrative around this, in the confines of the story itself, all that is learned is almost tangential to the central plot.  The story is written as a sort of apology, but the characte

The Amounts Do Not Fit Together These figures here do not belong in the container that is that number over there, and look at the shape here, these numbers have been squashed and bent to fit in a place they do not belong, are now sad, are birds who will not sing because they have been away from others of their kind since an age before they would ever have heard such a song, are sickened, now, and others are treated worse, these subtractions here that do not belong, are knives cutting with the imprecision of some twelve year old science student with a dead frog and a nervous stomach, these numbers, you have done harm to them, not to mention the result should anybody be foolish enough to follow these calculations in any real world scenario.

Well, I feel quite good to say I am done and it is not yet even three in the morning, which is an accomplishment for me, at the moment.  I have been working hard, and it is a long day, but I am also proud of the work and the dedication.  As I said yesterday, I am focusing on this to keep from feeling worse about the state of my efforts at getting published, though I must admit it is not helping.  I wrote a long rant of a poem today that was all about that, and which I am sure will never be published, or if it is will be changed in every way from what it is.  It was me attempting to vent, because I do feel rather stuck right now, and I am not certain what to do, and no one is helpful, to be honest.  I can't figure out what to do, so I am writing more, and that is probably not a real solution, but I am also aware that this is the amount of writing I have aimed at for a while, so I am not thinking it is only that, but it does keep me busy, and I am hoping that I will produce good work

It Is No Good to Speak with You Even if I do not argue or fight, or let what is said cause me to become hurt, even when we can get along, it does not do any good, because that happens only when I tell you nothing of how I feel, of my life, of the things that matter in my world right now, if I only speak of what is happy and insignificant, which means I must lie and pretend so you do not feel upset, must make you think things are well because knowing anything that is not good, hearing a bit of truth about what is happening is forbidden unless I desire to be hated once again.

I am glad to be at the point I am with my writing practice, not only with the amount of writing but also with the fact that I am now writing fiction again.  It is a lot of work and I am aware, as well, that I need to get myself some more sleep, but I know that it is important for me that I am doing this.  I cannot judge the value or merit of the work, but I do believe that practice is the best path towards doing better, and in this case, practice is the same as writing itself, and so, if nothing else, even if I were to believe that all this work is mediocre at best, I cannot help but be certain it will improve as I keep at it.  I am still working on that same story, and I wrote another twenty poems, and it is after four in the morning, but that is the way it is.  I am not yet having luck with publishing my work, but I am writing, am continuing to work each day, and I am working on keeping that as my focus, as much as I can.

She Suggests I Should Ignore The News for Today I am too agitated, she says, I should take a break, it is not any good to be upset, is not helping, and she may be right, perhaps I need a distance, need to step back for today, but I do not know, am worried the world has so much, is fast, each day seems more, each time it is already too far, already a stack that sways above, more is piled, it grows, the balance is precarious, will go to one side or another, crash, boom, all the way down, this way or that, and each day there is more, and not looking? It is not clear what good it does, each day for so long now has come leaping out, has been filled, has brought tears, daily tears, for strangers whose names a better world would not have to remember, and that is not only one thing, is not true here, but is true in all the directions that I can look, and it may be better that I don't look, today, she may be right, but I am not sure I can, it is too important, even if it hurts, it is