I must get things done, somehow, because I'm not unproductive, but I'm not at all sure where I'm going. I try to place that into Faith and Spirit, this insecure spinning that I play. I try to be my own advacate and I tell myself supportive things, trying to keep away from perfectionism. It's hard.
What I really want to do is write down all the thoughts that seem to slip away. The desire to write feels like a storm that builds up clouds in my horizon. The atmospheric pressure mounts, I rain down a poem or a prayer and then I try to get back to my field of housekeeping or crafting. Sometimes I think I have too much time on my hands for being an unshingled author. But I have no real handle on how creative bodies of work finally come together, so I work though all of my impulses a high degree of patience.
I just keep putting it down and cutting it out and knitting it together. And then I write another poem because I can't write endings.
Check out Mark Scandrette's Soul Graffiti.
1 comment:
I totally relate. I'm undisciplined about writing. For me, writing is both joyous and agonizing. It requires endurance, persistance, long pauses. I don't do well with any of those. My distractions are always housework and now gaming. I tell myself I'm refilling the pipeline with life experience (limited as it is in scope these days) but there hasn't been a lot of output in a while. When I wrote for a weekly I was constantly on deadline and it burned me out a bit, but still there's no excuse. Looks like I turned this comment into a short book, though.
p.s. I love Scandrette's work. Another book to get, argh.
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