Warning… this is a very long journal entry… it happens… rarely.
I am writing an epic… which is to say I am writing several poems to form one story. I started it a year or so ago and put it down for a few months. Recently, I picked it up again and wrote several more poems… and then I set it down again the first week of February. Why? Probably boredom or lack of interest. The nice thing about knowing my own mind is that I realize this is just a momentary pause in the process. The bad thing is that I also realize finishing a project is not something I am known for… that is to say, when I finish something, the clouds part, and the choir sings, and the earth trembles because it’s not a common occurrence.
I have a tendency to let outside forces affect my writing. If the ‘fit hits the shan’ in my life, my writing tends to stall or stop all together… mainly because I’m too mad to write. Some people’s writing thrives when things go bad… I tend to clam up. That’s not to say I can’t write… sometimes I do write but it’s usually completely indifferent to what’s happening in my life and when I go back and read it months later, I’m not sure that it was me who wrote it. When I am honest and just let the words flow, it may be obvious to the reader what my inner self is but not all of my poems have anything to do with how I truly feel. Sometimes I’m just writing fiction and sometimes that fiction includes my own experiences or deep feelings… other times I try to tap into feelings I’ve never had (which is difficult).
Several months ago I was letting myself write whatever came to mind… those moments were the most rewarding for me… and the most revealing. At the moment I have some strange and disturbing thoughts regarding my life and where I want it to go. Because I have not allowed myself to be honest, my writing suffers. Eventually I always get to the truth but this time I wonder if the truth is not so apparent… if the truth is actually a lie and I should ignore those doubts and life-reoccurring itches. The itches I cannot scratch without completely changing everything, and everyone, around me. The desire to run away has always been strong for me but my responsibilities have always grounded me… kept me close to home. Now, my responsibility is grown up and the itch to run surrounds me. I still have responsibilities but they are not the same, they are not what they once were. But to run would be to leave behind those I love and there would be no good reason other than my own selfishness… truly… there is no reason to go. So… that is what I mean by the fact the ‘truth’ may indeed just be a lie. It could be that I’m so used to past relationships being a jumble of crap that it’s expected that this one will eventually end up there. It’s inevitable, right? The real truth could simply be that I am happy and I should let myself actually feel that happiness rather than assuming it will fall apart.
But I digress…
I am doing some things different… eating right, exercising, writing, eliminating the negative outside forces and trying to deal with the internal ones as well. So, my goal is to pick up that epic again and re-read it, determine where it’s going and get it done!
To all of you have actually made it this far through this journal entry… wow… you’re crazy… lol! Seriously though… I appreciate the fact you’ve read it. I get so distracted and indifferent and lackadaisical, that I often fail at diving into the thoughts of someone else. It’s my own fault… I’ve met people on line many times since my first internet connection and many of them simply disappear or lose interest in me… or sadly, I lose interest in them. Lives change and even though we assume we will always be friends with someone we know personally… that doesn’t always remain true… and it’s even harder with people we never truly meet face to face. It’s so easy for someone to simply never answer a person’s email again… never visit their blog… never return to a forum. It’s sad and exciting what the internet has done… we meet people we would never have met before but sometimes we leave them in the dust when life changes, sometimes without a second thought.
To all of you who made it even further… 😉 … I don’t normally make journal entries this long but, just like my poetry, if the words want to flow, I let them.
I am gradually including more and more of my poetry to this blog. At first I started putting everything on here but then I deleted most of it… well, that is to say I put it into draft form for later publishing. I did that for a few of reasons. I have a fear of people stealing my work. Not because I think I’m a famous author, but because it’s personal and I can’t fathom claiming someone else’s writing as my own… that’s insanity to me. So when I hear of people taking poems as their own, it makes me very angry… Hulk like anger. I also wanted people to read my work and I figured people wouldn’t go back through it all and read it. Hell, I don’t do that much either. I usually find a blog and read forward, not backwards. I try to look back and will definitely read something if they request me to do so… but I have my own writing to put to paper and it’s hard for me to feel what someone else feels, so I make the mistake of not reading.
I have had some friends tell me my work is great but I have also experienced raised eyebrows. That eyebrow that translates into ‘what the hell is this’ or ‘do I need to call a shrink’. My husband tries to read what I write but often doesn’t understand where I’m coming from. I know now which ones to share… it can’t be too dark or he starts to think he’s done something wrong or I’m thinking of leaving. It can’t be too wishy-washy because he knows I’m not like that in reality. He thinks it’s ironic that I write poetry with so much feeling… dark or light… because HE’S the sentimental one, not me (at least not visibly).
So when I show off my work to friends, I am selective in what they see. Many people simply do not know that I write poetry at all. There is a guy at work who wants my blog address because he’s read a poem or two and thought they were good. My reluctance stems from the fact there are some poems I don’t necessary want to share with people I know and to give out my address would be to share it all with someone I must look in the eye.
And that is scary to me.