Now that Summer Reading is over and vacation--beautiful, sweet, wonderful vacation--is behind me I can finally focus on this tugging feeling I've been suffering from as of late, a being called to write kind of feeling. I used to journal nearly everyday, and aside from this blog, seldom do. And there's that "great American novel," I've been joking about writing for 20 years now--20 years!
I've recently began editing a friends very hefty first draft of a book, and then another friend gave me a first draft of a children's story he wants to publish some day. Just as I've finished and sent that back, this week another friend and fellow blogger has asked me to edit something for her...the COSMOS ARE SPEAKING! All of this editing for others is making me hungry to again write furiously; pen smeared fingers, exhausted and creaky knuckles, sore hands.
But write what? Should I dabble in the silly scribbly poems I used to love to write. Do I begin some sort of novel? And for whom? Adults? Angsty teens? Kids? When I need answers I turn to poetry and tonight I stumbled upon this and loved the quote from Stephen Dobyns too much to not share.
"It's always been my sense of what a poem is: that it's a machine
made out of words, and that you make that machine in some way,
that you have all kinds of different outpourings and vomitings on
the page, and that once you have that splop on the page, you try
to give it some kind of shape, and the shape is partly what makes
it compelling" --Stephen Dobyns