A Writer's Notebook, Day Three-Hundred-And-Twenty-Five
Ideas are still formulating, but I have some interesting poems coming out, ones that certainly feel to me that they are cousin to those I've always written, though perhaps with something else, a shift that I cannot entirely place, but which I feel positive about. I am hesitant to define this shift, perhaps some form of writerly superstition, but I am keen to see how it progresses.
Even so, having this kind of change in the work can be a bit unnerving. It is not that I don't feel the work is good. To the contrary, my poems have qualities that I have not seen in my own work, even as I have admired it in others, and I am seeking new depths in what I wish my poetry to accomplish. Yet, at the same time, it is unfamiliar ground, and the unfamiliar can often bring unease, even when it is a positive development. In this case, as well, there are new elements at play in the poems that I don't know entirely how to control or deal with, which is exciting, but still requires a learning curve.
At present, these new aspects are emerging instinctively, occurring without my thinking of them in any way beforehand. This means that I don't really have any ability to direct those aspects of the work yet, but am instead following them, to see what they can teach me. That is a valuable process, but one that I am not accustomed to in my writing, as I tend to like having a clear idea of my intent, or at least a notion about what I want to play with. In this case, though, I am learning the importance of letting go and just allowing things to happen.
Now, that process is a valid and wonderful one, but it feels awkward to me, and in many ways, I want to dismiss it because it is not didactic enough for me to consider it as real "work" in some sense. That is a silly thing to say, because it takes a great deal of effort to do this kind of spontaneous writing, to take the leap of faith of beginning without clarity about what is to come. That trust in the process comes from a level of self-assurance that is built on having developed a strong sense of how to write. It is not a lack of work, but a different form of work that stresses a different way of creating.
So, the real battle is towards accepting that my work is changing, and that I am finding a deeper and more challenging process of creation, which yields more potent work. That process is more difficult for me, in some ways, and requires a degree of adjustment, which is manifesting, ironically, in me feeling that I am mostly just doing exercises or some sort of preparatory work. This is an illusion, born of my own discomfort with the changes that I am experiencing, despite them being positive. It may well be that recognizing all of this is not all that effective a way to combat the feeling of being off-kilter in my writing, but I hope it is a sign of some adjustment occurring that will help me experience these new developments as the gift I sense they are.
Even so, having this kind of change in the work can be a bit unnerving. It is not that I don't feel the work is good. To the contrary, my poems have qualities that I have not seen in my own work, even as I have admired it in others, and I am seeking new depths in what I wish my poetry to accomplish. Yet, at the same time, it is unfamiliar ground, and the unfamiliar can often bring unease, even when it is a positive development. In this case, as well, there are new elements at play in the poems that I don't know entirely how to control or deal with, which is exciting, but still requires a learning curve.
At present, these new aspects are emerging instinctively, occurring without my thinking of them in any way beforehand. This means that I don't really have any ability to direct those aspects of the work yet, but am instead following them, to see what they can teach me. That is a valuable process, but one that I am not accustomed to in my writing, as I tend to like having a clear idea of my intent, or at least a notion about what I want to play with. In this case, though, I am learning the importance of letting go and just allowing things to happen.
Now, that process is a valid and wonderful one, but it feels awkward to me, and in many ways, I want to dismiss it because it is not didactic enough for me to consider it as real "work" in some sense. That is a silly thing to say, because it takes a great deal of effort to do this kind of spontaneous writing, to take the leap of faith of beginning without clarity about what is to come. That trust in the process comes from a level of self-assurance that is built on having developed a strong sense of how to write. It is not a lack of work, but a different form of work that stresses a different way of creating.
So, the real battle is towards accepting that my work is changing, and that I am finding a deeper and more challenging process of creation, which yields more potent work. That process is more difficult for me, in some ways, and requires a degree of adjustment, which is manifesting, ironically, in me feeling that I am mostly just doing exercises or some sort of preparatory work. This is an illusion, born of my own discomfort with the changes that I am experiencing, despite them being positive. It may well be that recognizing all of this is not all that effective a way to combat the feeling of being off-kilter in my writing, but I hope it is a sign of some adjustment occurring that will help me experience these new developments as the gift I sense they are.
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