Well that's new and kinda awesome.

Over the last several days, I've been actively working on a poem and thinking about poetry readings and open mics. And not just to go to'em--but prospectively read at'em too :-D

This is such a big deal for me. One, working on this poem feels so different and so good, I'm pretty stoked. Two, inexplicably I've gone from shyly declining any notion of reading aloud to insanely eager. And, three, somehow this eagerness has formed a sense of how I want to read my poetry--and that sense has shaped how I approach my poetry as I draft and revise.


I can't even remember if there were any reason this poem was different. Like, it started more or less like any other, if perhaps with more confidence about from the outset.

Besides that sense of assuredness regarding the work, the biggest difference has been this highly empowering feeling that, going into this, I have a stronger set of tools.

Let me rephrase that: I feel like there's some order about this, some--if rough--plan helping me move from one draft to the next. I'm to the thirdish draft, dude, and going strong--not yet feeling any kinda overwhelmed or intimidated.

If this sounds like bragging--it's not. This is the sound of amazement and excitement. I feel like a real writer for the very first time I can remember--and it is so, so gratifying.


I also mentioned readings. I've done a couple readings in my lifetime; sometimes my own, sometimes another's (Walt Whitman's "From Pent-Up Aching Rivers" and T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men"), and sometimes just on video for youtube.
Those were enjoyable though idle enough experiences.

This time--this desire to present my work aloud and live-action is much fiercer and much hotter.

I remember how fantastically inspiring and galvanizing the last open mic I went to was; I didn't read but somehow just experience the work and performance of others struck deep and got me resonating. But that was a while ago and although it largely led to some cool stuff--like doing that reading with Parker--it didn't go much of anywhere. And it was a long while back.


So, now, I have not only recovered this burning, aching need to to go on stage with my own poetry but also blow everyone away. And then some.

I want to go up on stage; perhaps I'll seem unremarkable enough at first. That is until I start reading. I want to emote and express every word and line--I want to rage and weep and laugh and whisper and growl. I want to enact my poetry line for line.

But not as mere trimmings and frivolous decoration. It's all well enough and good to be dramatic and thereby, hopefully, grab the listener and move them deeply. Truly, a lovely aspiration. But the poetry itself must, I demand of myself, also be beautiful and poignant. The dramatizing must be commensurate--as much and as often as possible--with the poem's significance.

They must justify as much as bolster eachother. If I am crying into the microphone as I read, then my heart ought to be breaking in those lines. If I am shouting angrily, I should prolly be nearing some breaking point of frustration at you (and myself).


All this--this sense of my personal style in delivery--has affected how I approach the writing & drafting & revising process. It makes it easier to let go of mediocre lines in favor of stronger, more efficient and effective ones. It fosters concision and melody and order. And, most importantly, it reinforces the values I've long held regarding poetry (especially my own poetry) which leaves me feeling so satisfied and emboldened.

Do not bedevil me, Revision!

But, alas, it does. I tried to vlog about this the other day but couldn't upload it to youtube so I've mostly given up. At this rate I might as well write a bit about these troubles here if I haven't already.

While I don't mind editing other people's work--I rather enjoy it, in fact--my own efforts at revision overwhelm me.

I don't know how to edit myself, I guess. It scares me. I sit down and look at the draft and get sucked right back into the details and self-recriminating judgments. "This is all crap!", and such.

With other people, I don't have such trouble finding "the big picture" and helping shape the piece to suit it, but I can't seem to with my own efforts. Perhaps it's too personal, perhaps I'm too inexperienced, perhaps I suck at turning the same objective but curious eye on myself that I grant others.

Probably, too, I expect too much of the (rough) draft I'm working on. That is, I demand certain things--order, organization to name two--that simply aren't there yet, but since I'm "requiring" them in order to be able to edit, I struggle badly to edit.

Another problem is "fancying" things. I get distracted from sorting out that whole big picture/organization thing as I come upon lines or phrases or bits I like. I also seem to have a hard time "risking" getting rid of them even if it means sorting out the piece and making sense of it as a whole. Sentimental? Mebbe. >.<

I'm gonna try something different today. I've heard one method of organizing is to write a draft and then make an outline of it and then see how you'd like that outline to be different and make changes accordingly. (Sometimes I've heard that you make an outline first, too, and then compare them. Kinda same thing...)

The trouble with distilling an outline from this draft is that because of its disorder there aren't exactly points that could be extracted and formed into an outline.... So maybe I should, having done what I can to look over what I have perhaps, draw up an outline of what I'd like, and then use what I have to fill in those gaps? That kinda makes sense, right?

Oh well. Either way, whichever way, it's worth trying. It's at least something...versus putting it off again as I have all week. Yeah. This sounds better.

Kind of ridonculous.

I've taken on a lot of writing responsibilities this last week or two. I've also been somewhat crappy about managing them, I guess. We'll see.


I've had some great new ideas for the essay for Madz's literary journal. It's moved from simply an apology to the editor to an indirect method piece on how to fail as a writer. Because somehow "failing as a writer" seems somehow impossible and paradoxical to my mind. You can struggle as a writer, you can give up as a writer (I guess), you can even "betray" your own principles with what you end up writing for, but "fail"?

As far as I can tell, writing is less a lifestyle--something to choose to do or fail at doing--as it is some inborn part of one's mind and personality. I want to be a writer because I can't help it. I want to string words together, either verbally or literally (literally), constantly.

As such, I suppose the article will go all double-indirect-method-y and actually explore what it means to be a writer....? by failing at it....? Hm. I'll needa think on that.


As you can tell that article may not be entirely ready for the journal. As such, I offered my editor, by way of something concrete, some old(er) poetry of mine. I went through and found what was good and typed up what I hadn't; I emailed her links to anything I'd blogged with notes on what changes, if any, I felt were necessary; and otherwise got myself all warm-feeling and hopeful regarding my prospects as a poet.

I mean, I'd basically given up on myself. I never seemed to write any poetry anymore, and what I remembered writing all seemed so mediocre and unfinished and pointless. Turns out it's not as hard as I'd thought to churn out something decent--that is, something that needs only a little reworking or continuing here and there to get going on its way to useability and maybe even goodness.

It's weird, too: In looking over the various drafts and fragments of things I've poeticized, I think I've found some weird kind of self esteem or respect or something. It occurred to me that I may actually have some gift-ness at stringing together compelling, interesting, pretty words and phrases. Can you tell I'm not good at breaking modesty?

Well, even the crappier fragments had occasional bits of worth, and that was also heartening. Like, "Hey, I might actually have something to offer, some kinda usefulness, some kinda recognizable style-ness. Imagine that.".


I've been pretty shit about the short story at the moment. I'm sure y'all can understand why. I've never gotten this far with pretty much any of my writing ever, so it isn't easy. I don't really know how it's supposed to be done--revising and shit. Like, I imagine it's not good to pack on as many writing obligations at once as I have. If only for clarity of mind. Oh well.

It's a learning experience.