I had a very vivid dream this morning, I could sense it was morning (it's those dreams lately right before waking that I feel I am living in...that I'm getting to the theme of my day or the latest "point of it all," just before I wake up,) it was a dream about poetry. It was a dream about my poetry writing. I was in these writing programs in Iowa, I was clamoring to squeeze in these poetry programs because it was important. I didn't do a creative writing workshop this quarter and there is a worry in me because the important thing is to stay motivated, to keep writing, keep going. I was at a psychology conference for a few days, a rather turbulent little conference that is making me wonder if I should be thinking about cortisol and stress all day long which is stress-producing all on its own (someone asked if I'm studying other people's stress or my own?)...and before that I hardly focused on my writing hardly enough for a few months, it was all about pushing my research proposal through. And then the sad truth that I had to give up my beautiful first project for this one. And then the fear of giving up things I love for other things and then the fear of being consumed by the wrong thing.
So I wrote a short-short today. Not a poem. I mean the poems and the fiction and the memoir have all become part of one project to keep pushing the words through no matter what comes.
I started reading Alexander Hemon's memoir the other day and in it he says that he only considers himself a writer when he's actually writing and that's exactly right, write. If you're not writing, but you're a writer then you're not existing so you better get to it!
Another Sunday...body, body, body, dislocate the hip joints by sitting for too long, then tighten everything by capoeira kicking, then breathe with yogic hip openers? It's the same with words, dislocate, then locate, then breathe.
So I wrote a short-short today. Not a poem. I mean the poems and the fiction and the memoir have all become part of one project to keep pushing the words through no matter what comes.
I started reading Alexander Hemon's memoir the other day and in it he says that he only considers himself a writer when he's actually writing and that's exactly right, write. If you're not writing, but you're a writer then you're not existing so you better get to it!
Another Sunday...body, body, body, dislocate the hip joints by sitting for too long, then tighten everything by capoeira kicking, then breathe with yogic hip openers? It's the same with words, dislocate, then locate, then breathe.
