I immediately jumped on board, having no idea where the ship was heading. As of this posting, I'm still not entirely clear of either its course or its destination, but I am glad to finally be here. I'll begrudgingly jump off if reality beckons loudly enough, which generally involves hunger, thirst, or someone in my vicinity needing something, but ASAP I get right back on.
As I've said before, in order for me to write a poem I have to see it, smell it, feel it, and etc. The image has to become as tangible in my mind's eye as it would be in reality. If I wish to write about a piece of rigging, I'll focus until I can see what color it is, feel it's texture, and know it's weight in my hand.
I don't actually write down all of these details in the poem, but I do draw on them for those oh-so-subtle nuances that they alone can lend. If I can imagine something well enough, then you should be able to imagine it, too, or else I will have failed to do my job. Again, I'm being redundant here, but I believe it can stand being said yet again.
While writing Airship, which is the tentative title of this poem, I did a bit of research on sailing ships of the late 1800's, studied anatomical drawings of Eudraco magnificus occidentalis, (the western dragon), and viewed detail upon detail of Steampunk airships. I tend to do this whenever I need to improve my vocabulary relative to the items I need to site.
As of this posting, I am still happily working on Airship. When I think I'm about done I'll let it sit and germinate a while before entering it into the index of my next book of verse. For the moment, I am thoroughly enjoying this ride. Immersive writing does has some wonderful perks.