A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Hundred-And-Eighty-Two
I am finding a certain stride in writing my poems now. Tonight, I plucked something out from my day and feel it worked. In some ways, I feel more comfortable with other kinds of images to start from, and other types of poems in general, but I am also aware that I am doing work that is pushing me and that I think is important for me to be doing.
Now, admittedly, a large part of that import is in terms of the act of doing the work itself, but, as well, I also believe in the actual output itself, and not only in the effort it represents. In some ways, writing that scares me is worth doing for that reason alone, and I believe it will result in things that matter too. The piece that I wrote tonight is not the kind of thing that I think I'd have written at other points earlier in my writing life, but I also recognize it as connected to ideas that I had attempted to put into work before without success. That I made it work in a way that feels right to me suggests that I am doing more than just busy work, I think.
I shouldn't be so self-conscious about it, should I? The truth of the matter is that it wouldn't matter if I wasn't intending to do good work but was just wanting to do the writing as a mere act. Even if that were my intent, I don't believe it could occur without some level of learning seeping through, in both directions. The work itself would, inevitably, become reflective of me and connected to my work, even I had no intent at all. As well, it is also certain that the act of doing that work daily would become a learning experience for me as well. Of course, I am being rather silly, as it would, clearly, be impossible to engage in such an effort. At least not earnestly. I could imagine it as a way of removing certain layers of self-doubt, but that is a different thing, I think.
The point is that I feel that the work I'm doing lately is something that I feel tied to, and yet it feels quite a bit different from older work in ways that really surprise me. That is a bit uncomfortable, to be honest, but I think that is probably a sign that I am still pushing myself in ways that matter. I am, however, glad to be capable of broadening what I think of as appropriate for my poetry. It is not that I think I was limited before, but I am finding possibilities I doubt existed for me previously.
Now, none of this is to undercut the need to do other things, or to get myself into a better place in other aspects of writing life. I am doing the work, though, and that is not something that has always been true for me. It is a triumph worth celebrating, even if it merely my recognizing that, as with any writer, I am gaining skill through practice. That is as it should be, but it doesn't necessarily happen unless the work is also happening and that is something worth remembering.
Now, admittedly, a large part of that import is in terms of the act of doing the work itself, but, as well, I also believe in the actual output itself, and not only in the effort it represents. In some ways, writing that scares me is worth doing for that reason alone, and I believe it will result in things that matter too. The piece that I wrote tonight is not the kind of thing that I think I'd have written at other points earlier in my writing life, but I also recognize it as connected to ideas that I had attempted to put into work before without success. That I made it work in a way that feels right to me suggests that I am doing more than just busy work, I think.
I shouldn't be so self-conscious about it, should I? The truth of the matter is that it wouldn't matter if I wasn't intending to do good work but was just wanting to do the writing as a mere act. Even if that were my intent, I don't believe it could occur without some level of learning seeping through, in both directions. The work itself would, inevitably, become reflective of me and connected to my work, even I had no intent at all. As well, it is also certain that the act of doing that work daily would become a learning experience for me as well. Of course, I am being rather silly, as it would, clearly, be impossible to engage in such an effort. At least not earnestly. I could imagine it as a way of removing certain layers of self-doubt, but that is a different thing, I think.
The point is that I feel that the work I'm doing lately is something that I feel tied to, and yet it feels quite a bit different from older work in ways that really surprise me. That is a bit uncomfortable, to be honest, but I think that is probably a sign that I am still pushing myself in ways that matter. I am, however, glad to be capable of broadening what I think of as appropriate for my poetry. It is not that I think I was limited before, but I am finding possibilities I doubt existed for me previously.
Now, none of this is to undercut the need to do other things, or to get myself into a better place in other aspects of writing life. I am doing the work, though, and that is not something that has always been true for me. It is a triumph worth celebrating, even if it merely my recognizing that, as with any writer, I am gaining skill through practice. That is as it should be, but it doesn't necessarily happen unless the work is also happening and that is something worth remembering.
Comments
Post a Comment