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How many irons ... exactly ... ?

7/31/2014

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From where I sit, clearly at the nexus of myriad, diverse, and nagging possibilities, each one waiting near at hand, each one another iron destined for the fire, it's difficult not to feel a little overwhelmed.

For instance, a conversation will sometimes wend its way towards ghosts and hauntings.  If I talk about a few of my many eerie encounters, someone will say, "You should write a book about that!"


I don't actually believe in "ghosts" per se, though I am keenly aware that there is "something" out there, teasing coyly for our attention. Even so, it does appear that such a book might actually sell.

When I reveal some of what I'd learned while homeschooling my daughter, to someone who is now teaching their child or children at home, I am encouraged to consider writing a book or a blog about it.

However, with my "memoir" languishing on its twenty sixth page, and my third book of poetry only beginning to take form, the thought of working on yet another new project, or two, feels rather reckless..?

I've learned that having "Many irons in the fire" can be viewed two different ways.  For one, there is the blacksmith who has accepted so many work orders that he finds it difficult to complete them all. 

On the other hand, a medieval surgeon, working right there on the battlefield, needs as many different irons as the fire will bear, so that he will be well prepared to cauterize a wide variety of  wounds.

So, I can either see my situation as, "How will I ever get to it all?" or I can think, "Wow!  Look at all of things that I can write about!"  With my encyclopedic interest in almost everything, I choose the latter.  



Image: blazingblacksmith.co.uk
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Running a little ... dry ...

7/23/2014

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Inspiration, that spectacularly fickle resource, occasionally leaves me high and dry ... meaning that my beached ship is well out of the water, and has been so for long enough that the timbers are dry.

Such was the term that The London Times applied to the Russian frigate, Archipelago, after she ran aground in 1796 ... and such is the state of my being when I find myself without any impetus to write.

It's as if any and all ideas have moved out of town, and left no forwarding address.  They are entirely unreachable no matter how many intriguing images I might ponder.  This is when nothing clicks. 

I have experienced anywhere from weeks to months to years of this familiar famine, when I wonder whether I had finally used up my ability to create.  What a very scary place for this poet to find herself.

But now, having weathered many episodes of this cyclic calamity, I've learned to take it with a begrudging shrug: "If it wants to be that way, then fine!"  I am a poet to my core, and I know that I will write again.

In my files, I have copious notes that lay in wait for "more," and I can almost sense those tentacles of thought which dangle and writhe just beyond the corners of my awareness, and well enough out of reach.

In due time, the softly undulating waves will return, and then my stranded vessel will rise again with the tide.  Meanwhile, I tidy up my files and glean from them as best I can while in this state of drought.  

It is of huge comfort to know that I am not the only writer who has ever, or will ever, endure this ... which I keep reminding myself.  So, here's to aesthetic vacations!  (... perhaps there's a poem in this ...)






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Future books ... 

7/16/2014

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I have plans for at least one more book of verse, as well as a memoir (of sorts), possibly a book on homeschooling ... and then there are my (true) ghost stories.  For the present, it is verse that drives me. 

Vaguesay rags of poetry fill my mind and my files.  Phrases such as, "Doubtless there is more to say of love than Shakespeare knew..." abruptly come to mind, and then hang there, mute, ambiguous.


What is one to do when there is no hint of how to proceed with an idea that presents itself, out of the blue, with intriguing potential ... and then goes silent?  I jot it down, then walk away, but not entirely.  

Ever since I first published Echoes, such phrases have taunted me, teasing at the horizon of my thoughts, whispering obliquely.  I listen, and wait, and nudge at them from time to time, but mostly I wait.

A month or so ago, the image of a young piratess came to mind, along with a few good lines.  She had one hand on the rigging, the other on her hip, she stood on the open deck of her father's frigate, poised to ...

It's like that brilliant "something" that you were about to say which suddenly flew only just out of reach of your tongue, but hunt as you might to retrieve it, it dissolves all the more, and is unutterably gone.


I have now amassed dozens of these fragments of image and thought, and if they weren't so disparate I might be able to mesh them all together into one really weird poem.  Nope.  Not gonna happen.

Meanwhile, I do manage to complete a poem or two here and there: fodder for Echoes lll.  Beyond that, I'm not entirely clear on what the future holds for my poetry.  I'm just holding on to the shelf space.  




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I heartily endorse ... Jeffery Simian Esq.

7/11/2014

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Imagine, if you will, that there is an unassuming blonde baboon in a tweed suit and bowler hat, with a monocle over one eye, and that he, generally, sits upon the shoulder of a large, white-skinned djinn.

Enter Jeffery Simian Esq., who started out as a simple silver coffeepot that sat upon a table aboard the Orient Express.  Wished for by a clockwork princess, named Myra, he is a very humble sort.

Jeffery's almost constant companion is a djinn, named Idris, who will only grants amusing wishes.  Together, they have various and compelling adventures amid a life of whim, suspense, and fantasy.

Written by Emily Thompson, who is the author of the twelve-part adventure series, titled Clockwork Twist , this spin-off of her novels is ostensibly penned by the refined, gentlemanly monkey himself.

Written in first person narrative, these are Jeffry's chronicles of all that he and his friend, Idris get up to and into, such as a visit to an amazing circus made of ice, and hidden deep within a Nordic fjord.  

I was privileged to obtain an advance reading of this work, and I can heartily recommend Emily Thompson's first spin-off series, Jeffery Simian Esq.  It is an absolute, escapist delight and not to be missed.

You can find "The intrepid exploits of a gentlemanly monkey abroad," which Emily is posting on a weekly basis, by clicking here.

Enjoy!

(Apologies for the tardiness of these posts ... one is occasionally otherwise disposed.)

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    About the author:

    I've written many poems over the years.  This blog is a preview of my books: Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry (April 2013), Echoes ll, More Neo-Victorian Poetry (May 2014), Echoes lll, Even More Neo-Victorian Poetry, (August 2016), A Compilation of Echoes. (September 2016), and When None Command (April 13, 2019)

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