A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-And-Eighty-One

I do feel somewhat enthused about the acceptance from Atlanta Review.  It is a journal that I truly respect, and I am quite proud to know I will have work there.  Beyond this, I want to believe it is a step forwards in a deeper sense.  First, I believe it might facilitate a relationship with the journal.  I know I am going to send them more work in the future, and with a renewed optimism.  As well, I find it, as a result itself, affirming.  I know the caliber of work that Atlanta Review publishes, and, beyond the sense of gratification of having my poem accepted, it is meaningful to have confirmation that the editors recognize my work as worthwhile.  It is easy to fall into, either, feeling the work is terrible and a waste or that it is excellent and those who do not see it are idiots for missing the point.  Any writer can fall towards one or both of these, by turns, and I've known a few who veer hard in one or the other direction.  I have certainly had times when one or the other sense was predominate, but I try hard to remain even keeled about it.  I recognize that some of what I write will be good, if only from the volume of it.  I know I have a certain degree of talent with language, and have honed it through training, education, and, of course, practice.  The writing I do, I believe, is good, but I also know it is not all great work, and it takes a great deal of work to get any piece of writing into shape.  It is natural, when working hard at a thing, to feel pride in it, and it is also natural, when you put this much effort into work that does not make a real impact, to question the work itself.  This is true no matter the quality of what has been created.  It is important to know, even in a small way, that others can see the value in that labor.  I find it difficult, at times, to accept this, to feel the gratitude for this, especially when it is, ironically, so rare and small, though that is when I need it most.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Writer's Notebook, Day Two-Hundred-And-Fifty

Each of the three pieces I wrote today was a bit of a struggle to get going, if I am honest.  That happens, as I have mentioned, and my answer is generally to just wait it out, and the results vary.  A lot of the time, if I am really stuck, I might try to force something out, often it winds up being a bit meta, with me writing about being stuck without much in terms of inspiration, and it feels a bit like I am working scales in a way.  All the aesthetic decisions are there, they just don't always have a lot of purpose behind them, and that is fine in that context.  Essentially, I am just forcing myself to do the work, and getting it done, and I am showing myself that I can and will do it even if inspiration never strikes.  This can often take pressure off, and that lack of pressure opens up creative thinking and inspiration. Now, that is a fine thing for me to do, and I am likely to use that approach again many times in the future, but today I felt that I want...
Read more

Le Guin, Steering The Craft, Chapter Five: Adjectives and Adverbs (Exercise Five, Chastity)

A note of apology for my lateness with this.  I had expected to have time earlier in the day, but it was not to be, alas.  Anyhow, I am still a bit nervous about this exercise, though it is clearly of significant import to Le Guin, as she points out that it is the only exercise that she has given to all of her workshops.  That, of course, does not alter my feelings about it, excepting that I am aware of it as something valuable and worth doing, so the fact that it is a bit daunting might well be seen, through that light, as a promise of reward, perhaps.  The more difficult the task, the more one has to gain, at least by some logic... Exercise Five: Chastity Mr. Torino was in charge.  He had his way.  It was the way.  Desktops are clean.  Nothing but work.  No pictures: not your kids; not your girl or wife; not (as Allen recounted) your car.   None of that.  No plants.  No cartoons.  That is for home, this is work....
Read more

A Writer's Notebook, Two-Thousand-And-Fifty-Nine

I have been thinking about how I can discuss certain aspects of my poetry and the choices I make as a writer.  In particular, I tend to write without as much reliance on sensory details and descriptions, instead choosing more abstract depictions.  This is something that I know many writers would call an odd choice, as specificity seems inherently to demand the application of detail, but I tend to be a bit hesitant about relying on depictions that utilize the senses, as I find that approach somewhat problematic.  For one thing, sensory description is always going to be less than universal, and not only because of the reality that there are individuals who lack one or more sense.  In many ways, for me, the deeper problem is one related to language itself.  Our use of language creates our experiences in a very real way, though I can't necessarily offer a full explanation of what I mean by that right here, but using a word for an object bestows qualities on it....
Read more