A Day in the Writing Life
This post originally ran at the Elevensies site in September 2010
Some days
I spend in a one-room sod house,
watching a girl
survive a blizzard
alone.
Other times
I conjure up an alligator
slipping through duckweed,
an egret
lifting a graceful foot
as he creeps through marsh grass.
I revisit characters
that look nothing like
the flimsy selves they once were
or
research different lives,
unsure of what story will surface
but trusting
one will come.
In special moments
I enter a place
where the outside world
of coffee shop clatter,
conversations,
and familiar music
fades
to
nothing.
Only my words exist.
Most often
I spend days
barely moving forward,
but working
still.
Thinking through images,
knocking out rhythms,
climbing inside my character’s skin.
I poke at ideas,
unsure
how to start
but
beginning,
and beginning,
then beginning again.
Yes Yes and Yes!!! I love reading as much as I love writing. It’s like Calgon (for those of us old enough to remember what that is)–
it takes me away.
Yep! That last stanza pretty much sums it up! Great poem. :)
What a lovely poem.
love this. and you. <3
I really love this poem <3 and I can totally relate :D
Gae, right back at you. Thank you, all!
Beautiful! I love this!
That is so beautiful!
Wow, Caroline! This is the perfect poem for writers. You describe so well the whole creative process! I especially love the part about the outside world fading to nothing. Although of course the “barely moving forward” part and the “beginning and beginning” part also eloquently describe a writer’s life.
Breathtaking.
This is a beautiful poem. Thanks for posting it.
Thanks, everyone, for your kind words. And Sherry, I ate a Sadie’s sopapilla in your honor yesterday!
Beautiful poem! I especially love the last two stanzas! :)
LOVE this!!
I’m grinning after reading your poem–my heart resounds with a Yes! She got it!–thanks much. Brava!
This is wonderful! Thanks for sharing it. :)
Gorgeous, Caroline!!! I love it.
Sometimes I get impatient with the hibernating, the time waiting for the words to glom into worlds and become populated. Your poem reminded me to stop worrying, stop fretting, stop pushing because the story will come. Eventually.