I’m in the thick of the manuscript connected to this notebook. Thought it might be fun to share again!
I wrote this a few days ago in an attempt to express a piece of my writing process — the behind-the-scenes work that goes into writing historical fiction. You guys. In four years of blogging I can honestly say this is the most fun I’ve ever had in writing a blog post. Writing this poem has reminded me I need to give myself more permission to play. There is something incredibly satisfying in starting and finishing a project in one day and in experimenting with a format I’ve never used before.
Here’s to your own creative processes and the opportunity to find joy there!
Oh, notebook mine,
the place I gather records, thoughts
before I know the way a story winds,
unsure whether or not
I’ll need what I’ve written down,
or if the scribbling of a word will be mere passing fact,
a jot to teach, inform me of the world I’m learning,
a collection of phrases to ground
me in the things I sorely lack,
to multiply my yearning.
You are a place of lists,
dates, maps, quotes, sometimes a sketch,
this novelist’s definition of bliss,
my source when I long to catch
a whiff of history, a summer berry’s hue,
a sense of place, the voice of one long dead,
the temperature when kerosene solidifies —
truths I can bend and shift, make new,
and like a ball of dough transform to bread
with heat and time. You stoke the fire in my mind’s eye.
You are a testament to months of labor,
a tribute to half-formed thoughts and starts,
a vestibule which leads to something greater,
the fresh firsts of a future art,
a net that gathers every object nearer,
sifts and filters, groups and sorts,
until like seeds that push to germination,
truth and story blend, grow clearer:
dear notebook, you help me bring forth
a story to its liberation.