Quote by avrgblkgrl
Steph, isn’t this like the umpteenth thread where you plead with people to tell you about how they write? You are such a voyeur. But, we all are. We pay to have people tell us. I get paid to talk about the why and how of other writers. Reflecting on that wealth of information when it comes to my writing process just frustrates the hell out of me. Everyone always wants to discuss “writing process”. Then, no one really discusses it. You talk around it and you talk of it as if it is a separate thing that can be wrapped and gifted. You may talk about what you did, but it doesn’t mean that’s what you are going to do. This leaves the listener unsatisfied and examining self. Self-examination is good. So, here I am in another one of your threads. (I know you gave me a warning last time, but I'm not scared of you. I'm scared of Sprite.)

I think there is the way you think it should be done, the way you wish that it was done and what actually happens. When I say “what actually happens”, I’m not talking about the collection of words “you” decide to call a poem or the half written masterpiece that is waiting for that next swoop of genius for completion. I’m talking about when you finish adding that last word or space or letter and you know it is complete. Yes, that moment when you know, and because of some false respect for humbleness you can try to act like you don’t know all you want, it is poetry. That moment when your fingers were moving, words were flying and you were not only somewhere else but someone else—yet still, you were more you than ever. I think that when that happens, you can’t really explain it. The reason why it can’t be explained is because you did not do it the way that you thought it should be done, the way you wished that it was done and there is no sense to how it was actually done. You are either going to sound like the writers that irritate the hell out of you: “It just came to me, I wrote it and it was perfect”. Or, you are going to sound like the slightly obsessive compulsive over achiever: “I had a concept, I plotted, I devised, I wrote and I edited until it was legitimate.” Your writing process is as individual as you are at that moment in time. When that poem that is pure poetry comes to you, it generally shocks the hell out of you too. It is a culmination of what you are, consumed, experienced, felt, heard, breathed in at the moment each letter hits the page and tumbles into its specific position. Each poem has its own process. You can review it and backtrack. You can say that’s what you are going to do next time because it worked so well this time. The only thing is, it will not have the same outcome. That’s why someone can perfectly copy a master piece of art and another person can look at it and say it is just a copy. Each brushstroke contains a moment that can’t be recaptured.

We crave to know how the ones that do it get it done. We read everything we can get our hands on and listen intently in hopes that it will give us that moment. There is nothing like the high you feel right after that moment passes and you read over what is left. All you can say is “DAMN”. Then there is the purity of aftershock. That’s when someone besides yourself sincerely echoes that “DAMN”. Then you immediately start chasing that high again and fighting off that awful, irritating ache. It is an ache that whispers the fact that the moment may never come again.

I could be just speaking for myself and trying to justify my confusion by using the word you. I’m also typing this up on my iPhone. Later on someone may complain about something I’ve said and I’m just going to declare in disgust, “That damn auto-correct!” Why? Because tomorrow I may feel differently.

Was I supposed to comment on your poem?

When I grow up, I want to be like Cleo.

not every poem can be used
to wrap fresh tuna in
some are meant for the litter box

Cleo el Gato

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