Something to Work With

November 21, 2010 § 5 Comments

It’s taken as long as an elephant’s gestation, but an insight about my lack of poetic writing is finally here. I could set the stage  (I was walking the dog, blah, blah, blah…) but really it’s about pieces finally drifting into place. For those of you who need catching up, here’s the recap:

I’ve been writing poetry passionately for about two years and lost momentum. The main factors I identified were losing  much of my constant anxiety and head spinning after becoming addicted to Cesar Millan’s dog psychology, which led to the loss of my angst.  Angst fueled my writing, so I was struggling to find inspiration. I’ve been lucky enough to find a creativity coach and after going through a number of exercises, I found myself feeling as if nothing had changed at all. He was supportive and suggested after my last pathetic plea (I felt so guilty about it, I even deleted the sent copy from my email) that I let go and allow myself to be, to gestate. I guess I had carried this weight long enough – the insight arrived.

Writer’s observe (or I do); they hold a part of themselves separate so they can record, analyse, ponder, interpret. Since I have lost my angst, I’m living more in the moment – I’m not standing aside or storing or  wondering. I’m simply there. And when I go into my head to see what was captured, there is nothing. The machine wasn’t on, it was being instead of doing.

All my other interpretations have felt wrong to me. This one feels right. Now I have something to work with.


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§ 5 Responses to Something to Work With

  • I just want to see you back Pamela. I’m glad that you may have found your solution. Try not to overanalyze too much though…

    I’ve found that my creativity, writing or otherwise, is like a faucet; once I turn it on, even if I have to force it, it’s on. So just keep writing.

  • G says:

    I can sympathize with this momentary dilemma that you’re going through (for it is momentary), having gone through a long dry spell once I decided to stop writing while I was perpetually angry. For the longest time, I thought I couldn’t write unless I was angry. Once I decided to challenge myself to write a particular type of story that I thought I couldn’t write, that seemed to be the proverbial needle to puncture the bubble that my muse was encased in.

    The bubble was pierced and once again I was able to start writing, with this latest batch being influenced by the people and places that I’ve visited or talked to in my life and not by the anger that seemed to consume me for the better part of a year and a half.

  • neil reid says:

    What fills the space inside wonderment? Angst is one I suppose. Yet a field of wildflowers blooms in a hundred ways. Some draw bees, some butterflies of every imagined sort, some just sketch a thousand words waiting for a passer-by, harvesting. Suppose first glance might say, just an empty field, nothing much to see or say. Suppose when you sit, listen, observe, the world is a whole other place. Then maybe those blooms were always just you and me, all of us here gathered round. I suppose. (Nothing empty here in sight.)

    Even your not-writing is poetry. One-thing clear to hear, it’s easy to like your voice. The choice to dance is always always yours to make. But it is always always nice when you do. Nice when you share that space (inside thoughts, feelings, hearts and fingertips).

    And a smile allowed is as good as a bowl.

    (see what you do to mine) (nothing empty here in sight)

  • Jane Hardin says:

    Great epiphany, Pamela. Of course, both writing AND living in the moment are highly desirable skills. You seem to have considerable talent at both. Lucky you!

  • weekdaypoet says:

    I think it’s really great that you’re in a better emotional place. Creativity is an awesome thing, but a sound and happy heart is better.

    That said, I want to encourage you in your newfound epiphany to not sweat the writing. From my own experience I feel confident in saying that we can’t always be at top form (in the moment instead of out of it). There will come days when you’re not on top, not in the moment, and you’ll turn to writing. But it won’t be a total fall back into angst, and your inspiration will be fresher and healthier for the break.

    I’ve found when I plunge myself into real-life work long enough, the muse comes back to me… beating me with a stick… usually when I’ve decided I don’t want her!

    All the best to you.

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