A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-And-Sixty-Five

I am often not certain about the poems I write. Many of them feel insignificant, or just off the mark.  I press them out, but they do not seem to be of real worth to me.  It may be, of course, that I am misjudging them.  I've certainly had others tell me that a poem is quite a bit more impactful then I had expected, but that is not likely to be true of each piece I pen.  The truth is, most of what I write probably isn't of great value, but that is one reason I write so much.  It is a simple fact that the more attempts made, the greater the chance of success, so, writing poems each day is sort of like rolling dice over and over.  I also know that it helps in other ways.  For one thing, writing several poems at once helps me to run out the boring, easy stuff.  I have to press myself for new ideas, or to return to those concepts that I might have written about before without success, or around an idea I have a deeper or alternative perspective on now.  As well, in a slightly different way, I think that it also is a matter of pushing down that part of me that wants to avoid the work.  I can sit and wait for inspiration and it may never come, or when it does, if it does, I may not be in the right mood to follow through on it.  I have done that before, and I spent years doing very little writing, though I believed that I wanted to.  By making myself do this work, I have taught myself that I don't need inspiration, and, even more, I subdue my procrastination by making it clear to that part of my mind that I'm not going to give in.  Often, when I make clear that I am not going to just walk away from the work, my mind accepts it and opens up.  It is as if it has been waiting, but will not make the effort, will stand in the way of it, until it is certain it is not a waste.