19 November 2011


Dang, y'all. I am totally uninspired lately. I had to force myself to take some pictures this week. I think I've only written one poem this month so far, a crappy one to prove to myself that I can indeed still write poems on my new laptop.

I ended up feeling strangely sentimental about surrendering my old laptop for this new one. After all, I'd written both Saint Monica and O Holy Insurgency on it, not to mention my new coin-operated manuscript, and my new risk management manuscript, and another project I have in the oven. I also used that old hunk of junk to typeset numerous issues of Barn Owl Review, and to edit and paste together all the essays and foreword for The Monkey & the Wrench. It was hard to say goodbye at first. But I'm hoping that the new laptop has even more awesomeness potential. It does seem a lot more reliable, for one. Now I just need the inspiration. Insert wild, cackling laugh here.

I found this post by Julianna Baggott to ring so true to my life, especially in terms of writing and not writing. I know that the not writing is necessary to the writing, but it's so uncomfortable to me. I feel like a machine. This machine does get a lot of student poems annotated and rec letters written and laundry folded, but it doesn't make poems. I am going to try to look around a little more this week, at the very least. I am hoping for one poem by next Friday.


Eric 'Bubba' Alder said...

I find myself uninspired on occasion too. I often find inspiration by taking photographs.

I even host a weekly photo prompt challenge on my photo blog: Monday Morning Photo Prompt

I hope you'll come on by. It's open to everyone.

Lyle Daggett said...

It's always a struggle, isn't it? I find myself writing during any "spare" scrap of time, during my breaks at work, during the ten minutes before I start work in the morning, on the bus on the way home (if it's not too bumpy), in the middle of doing whatever else at home. On weekends I go find someplace to sit and write. I've learned how to write no matter how much noise or silence is around me.

Getting to that silence before words, that place poems come from, can be hard in the noise factory that makes up so much of the world these days. It does take, quite often, a conscious concerted effort.

As if to punctuate the point, word verification is (not making this up) "retype".

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