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Oh, those contemplation bubbles ...

9/26/2014

Some time ago, I saw an online image of a coffee mug bearing a brilliant slogan: "Please do not annoy the writer. She may put you in her book and kill you." This mug soon went viral. Of course it did.

As any writer will tell you, being interrupted while obviously deep in thought goes well beyond "annoying." Even I, an extrovert's extrovert, find these occasional disturbances incredibly irritating.

Sorry ...

In truth, once I have managed to dislodge myself from my quiet, creative bubble, I am ever so happy to see you, but it's rather a large initial shock at first as my mind struggles to refocus ... on you.

And even while we converse, or I address whatever it was that you interrupted me about, those ideas and phrases that had enveloped my entire sphere continue to spin at the very edges of you and I.

Replying, "Yes, I'd love more coffee," is enough to confound my thought processes for at least the next several minutes, and it is why I am ever in search of some far corner in a less than popular cafe.

My husband is keenly aware of my quirk. When he sees me staring fixedly into nothing at all, he softly asks, "Jan ... are you writing a poem?" I'll reply, "...uh huh ..." If he can, he'll let it go at that.

Being a fine artist, himself, he gets it. But, as I have noted in previous blogs, not everyone does, which is why I applaud the slogan on that mug. It's humorous, it's succinct, and

... it's probably true.

Image: brimstone-and-ash.tumbler.com

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Mentors ... learning only from the best ...

9/20/2014

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Dating from as far back as 1792, the phrase "tried and true" refers to something that has been tested and found to be reliable, trustworthy, and dependable. In literature, this would apply to "the classics."

I have long observed that the skill of writing well requires that one is well read, as in someone who is, "knowledgeable and informed as a result of extensive reading." Caliber begets caliber, so to speak.

A writer friend of mine, who has read capaciously from "the classics," recently posed the question: "Why am I not hanging out with the likes of Oscar Wilde, or Felix J. Palma? Where are they today?"

I, too, wish I were surrounded by the Lake District poets. In truth, much of the contemporary poetry that I've read, including rhyming verse, tends to feel unapologetically unfinished, and wantonly so.

I'm not talking about the occasional typo or misspelling, of which I, too, have been guilty. No, what I'm trying to point out here is the absence of that fiery impetus to excel which breeds masterpieces.

But then, how could it be otherwise, considering that most students receive only the barest blush of instruction in writing according to canon? Where can one learn this, apart from reading masterworks?

Whenever I read a piece that, by all appearances, was dismissed as "good enough," I feel cheated. The image of a wrench comes to mind with which to tighten it, or a hammer to flatten out the bumps.

You can judge the merits of a writer's work by their mentors, or their lack of. For instance, Picasso was so well trained in the rules of painting that he knew intrinsically how and where to break them.

Our libraries are teeming with myriad brilliant mentors who's "tried and true" works wait patiently to instruct and to inspire all would be writers. I found my mentors there, and I've avidly studied them.

When I sense that a poem I am composing is not yet the absolute best that I am capable of, it grieves me. And, it should. So, I keep my mentors handy, consult with them often, and I strive for ...

Excellence!

Image: bookriot,com

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... a bit under the weather ... (desk)

9/12/2014

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This is one of those times ... we've all probably had them ... when my brain defies my every attempt to get it to function properly, due to illness. This has been the case with me this entire week. /(>_<)\

According to one website, "under the weather," may have nautical origins, and first appeared in print in 1835. On another online site, it originated in 1810. Whatever, it is by now a rather dogeared phrase.

When a writer is ill with a bad cold, such as I am, it becomes difficult, nay futile, to muster enough will and words to accomplish much of anything. I'd do better to recline under my desk than hunch over it.

So, rather than not post to my blog this week, I figured I'd just keep this one short. With apologies. I'm off to go lie down again beneath my softest throw and sip on a delicious, healing, relaxing Hot Toddy.

Until next time ...

image: www.theatlantic.com

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Keep the originals ... please ...

9/4/2014

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What do you do with all of those old, unused scraps of potential ideas that you wrote on napkins and other odd bits of paper; those random phrases that haven't quite coalesced into something workable?

The image of a frustrated writer tossing sheet after sheet of crumpled paper into his waist bin is a familiar one, and it makes me cringe whenever I see it. No, dear writer, no! You hold onto those sheets!

I've sometimes wondered what the drawings that Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec did on napkins and on tablecloths looked like. Apparently, one such drawing, done with a burnt matchstick, still exists. One.

Every once in a while, I'll go rifling through my "Box of Poetry" and review every scrap therein, hoping for ideas that I can use, and I often find inspiration among those latent, partially-formed notions.

Granted, I lost many of my scraps, as well as completed work, during various moves from house to house, else my box would have had to be a great deal larger. Now, I store my scraps on digital media ...

... which can have negative consequences, too. I used to carry an Apple iPod with me to quickly jot, and store, vignettes of thought. One day, my handy iPod broke. Alas, I hadn't backed it up yet.

So, I've learned to backup my data files, and to keep those sheets of notes even though I now have digital copies. As a writer, I cannot have too much stockpiled redundancy, save for corrupted files.

When I think about my lost bits and pieces that ended up who knows where, I feel that I can almost remember them, that they are only just out of my reach, and that they are simply beyond wonderful.

I might even go so far, one day, to seek out a hypnotist who will put me under his pendulum spell and have me recite all those words that went astray. For now, I make sure to keep every scrap of my scraps.

Image: stampspaperandink.typepad.com

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Oh, those contemplation bubbles ...

Mentors ... learning only from the best ...

... a bit under the weather ... (desk)

Keep the originals ... please ...

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