Where a Poem Begins

All of my poetry stems from my own life experiences, but some of the experiences are more intensely personal than others. What I mean is that some of my poetry is inspired by something I observe: a mellow fall day, a boy playing with chalk on the sidewalk, the shapes that have grown into the bark of a tree, the way the sun reflects off the water, those sorts of things. Almost always, I'll end up connecting those observations to something in my life, but they don't originate with my own lived experiences.

Most of my poetry is the direct result of the who, what, where, why, and how I am living or have lived. They're experiential in that they reflect pieces of myself. I often write poetry to help me deal with and process the things I'm experiencing. Poems help me express the emotions I have a hard time naming and often owning. Writing about my life allows me to live it better. For that reason alone, I wish I wrote poetry more often. Having said this, often my muses are dark emotions that stem from painful things I have or am experiencing and I certainly don't wish my life had more darkness in it.

So when things in my life are going well - as they are right now - I am less inspired to write. I want to write but I rarely feel that surge of emotion and inspiration that I need to feel in order to have the courage to put pen to paper. (Since writing poetry is so intensely personal for me, and I am an admitted perfectionist who is way too hard on herself, it requires a fair amount of courage for me to even begin a poem.) My seeming inability to write when much is right in my world is somewhat ironic as I don't often feel that I process my positive emotions as well as I should. What I mean is, I find that I often have trouble attaching joy or happiness or contentment to the good things in my life. It's something I struggle with because I don't just want to know that my life is going well; I want to feel it too.

Some Posts Have Moved to a New Blog!

I recently decided to separate the original blog posts I had here into two blogs: one for my creative writing (this blog, Fervent Ink) and one for my faith-focused ideas (new blog, Fervent Faith, which you can find here). While my creative writing is definitely inspired by my faith, and my reflective writing is enhanced by my creative writing experience, I feel like there's a distinct difference between the kind of writing I do when I'm considering my faith and what it means to live a Christian life and the kind of writing I do when I'm feeling inspired and allowing my creative juices to flow. Yes, they inform each other, but they're separate genres and therefore warrant separate blogs. I hope you'll enjoy either or both.

The Coming of NaNoWriMo

So the beginning of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is just a few short weeks away. Last year I actually succeeded in writing 50,000 words of a novel in the month of November. I'd like to try it again this year, but I have no good ideas. I thought I had the beginning of one, but I'm not convinced it's a worthwhile one. The problem is, I always think that my ideas have been done before. Every potentially compelling idea I have, I'm convinced someone's already written that story and written it better than I ever could. I have to move past that killjoy inner critic and just let an idea take flight. You never know what could come out of it. That's the beauty of NaNo... you don't have time to listen to that critic if you want to complete the challenge. You just have to start with an idea and let the story write itself. I just hope I can come up with the beginning of an idea that I want to spend time developing.

The Prompting

Every Sunday, as I sit in church, I'm inspired to write. I feel the prompting - I'm sure it's by the Holy Spirit - to immerse myself in words, both my own (to write) and others' (to read). I know this isn't a coincidence. I know that God has called me to put words on the page and to find him in the words of others. So I responded to the prompting today by pledging to not watch TV during the day this week and to do some reading and writing each day instead. I hope and pray God will give me the motivation and desire to follow through on this and I'm even more hopeful about what will come out of it.

I wrote something new!

It's been forever since I wrote something new. This poem, entitled "Once", was inspired by a lost friendship that I was contemplating today.

Once

Once we
talked, laughed, shared secrets,
fought, cried, betrayed,
forgave, supported,
and, most importantly,
loved.

Now we just don’t.
Any of it.

Which used to hurt,
much more than it does
n(N)ow(.)
I can watch your life in picture stills
as it continues without me.

Because as time unfurls
the hole in my heart
grows smaller
as others come alongside
to fill the void left by
your silence and apparent apathy
of what once was.

(It was worth fighting for, you know.)

But the bitterness subsides with time,
the pain dims,
and I can be happy that you’re happy,
even without me.

Once we shared life together.
Now we just don’t.

I wish it was different.
But it’s not.
And so I move on,
thanking God that I have friendships for today
and that
once,
I got to share a part of my life’s journey
with you.

good books

Some fantastic books I've read lately:

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver
The Stand by Stephen King
The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb
I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak (currently reading this one)

If you're looking for a great read, just pick up one of these.

bad books

I haven't been having a lot of luck with the books I've been choosing to read lately. First, The Lost Symbol was a huge disappointment; now, I'm reading The Weight of Numbers by Simon Ings. It looked so intriguing and like such a cool concept... not so much. It isn't what I expected and the gratuitous graphic content (both violent and sexual) is certainly not something I need to read. I'm all for difficult content IF it serves a purpose; after all, life is full of difficult things. But when it's just there for "entertainment" purposes, I have no use for it. That is not the mark of a good writer. I'm ALMOST inclined to put this book back on the shelf (or better yet, drop it off at a pawn shop) without finishing it, but I keep hoping it will get better and I really have a hard time not reading a whole book. It's one of these books with various plot lines, (different people, settings, and time periods) that all intertwine somehow and somewhere along the line. So I'm hoping for a brilliant connection of all of them at some point, but I'm not holding my breath. I sure hope the next book I choose is better than these last two... Any suggestions?

On another note, I can't find my signed copy of Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake and it's starting to stress me out. I vaguely recall lending it to someone and making her (or him?) swear to guard it with her or his life, but I have no idea who that was. Any chance it was you?

motivation: AWOL

It's a sick form of irony that I've made time for reading and writing and other enjoyable activities by cutting out tv and facebook, but now I'm completely unmotivated to do any of those things. I can't even muster up the energy to do things I have to do, like mark when assignments must be done by the next day. I want to want to do all these things, but wanting to want something is not the same as wanting it and even further from actually doing it. Perhaps if I just begin, I'll start to enjoy it. Chances are that's true... but now I need to find the motivation to just begin. See my dilemma? It's pathetic, but it's a very real struggle for me right now.

a reader's response

I'm currently reading Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol and I have to say, I'm less than inspired. Not that I expected the book to be amazing, but I'm more disappointed in it than I thought I'd be. I actually really enjoyed both The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons, not because Brown is an amazing writer, but because he knows how to tell an intriguing tale. Granted, being a good storyteller is half of what makes a great writer, but his formula for telling it is nothing new. While Angels & Demons was fresh and exciting, and The Da Vinci Code pushed the limits in terms of content, I feel that with The Lost Symbol, Brown has become a bit stagnant. I mean, the writing style and even the plot premise is virtually the same and offers nothing new or thought-provoking beyond the other two books. I feel like I'm reading the same book over again. His formula has been done and now it's just old. I've already figured out most of the novel's plot twists, and I'm only two thirds of the way through it. I'm also getting tired of him constantly ending a chapter with some big cliff-hanger or unknown piece of information only to jump to the next plot line in the following few chapters before revealing the "big secret". It's such obviously contrived suspense that I just find it annoying. Quite frankly, I'm looking forward to being done the book (and yes, I have to finish it, because I can't leave a book or a movie in the middle, no matter how bad it is). I don't think I need to read another one of Dan Brown's novels ever again. It's been done.

Similarly, this is the same reason I stopped reading Jodi Picoult. The first novel I read by her, My Sister's Keeper, was intriguing both style and plot-wise, but by the time I finished the third one, I was tired of both. All three novels followed the exact same formula - a highly controversial subject shown from multiple points of view to emphasize that a morally grey issue always has more than one side of the story. A great premise, but not when it's done over and over again. In my humble opinion, a good author is constantly finding NEW ways to tell a story and pushes the limits of his or her writing style, rather than relying on a formula that has worked in the past to bring in the big bucks. When a certain style or plot premise is successful, leave it at that. Don't try to repeat it, otherwise it becomes old and unoriginal and boring. I guess I'm just a purist and/or a literary snob. Or rather, would like to think I am. Whatever the case, these are two authors that have lost a reader because they can't or won't break out of a mold.

a season of Lent

For Lent this year, my husband and I agreed to give up television (except for the team Canada hockey games, because you can't miss those!) and facebook (except for 1/2 hour on Sundays just so I can stay connected). Since we both spend way too much time watching tv, and I spend too much time on facebook, this means we have a lot of extra time these days. Which is great - now I more have time to read, make jewellery, exercise, visit and write. At least theoretically. ;)

The original purpose of Lent is to prepare the believer for the death and resurrection of Jesus, and it is characterized by prayer and self-denial, among other things. I think Lent is a great time to refocus and reprioritize and I feel that our choices of what to give up will help us do this.

One of the things I always wish I made more time for is writing, so I thought I should actually start writing in this blog again. Ideally, I'd come back with a bang and write some inspired piece of poetry or something, but I've got nothing. I'm not even feeling creative right now. But I'm writing something, and not watching tv or playing stupid time-wasting games on facebook, so that's worth celebrating. Here's to Lent and a season of reflection and renewal.

struggling

I've always had this struggle around my writing. My dream is to write. It's my number one passion. I'd give up just about anything to do it. Or at least that's what I tell myself. But I'm always finding reasons to not write. Lately, while I am super busy, I've learned that writing is about making time, not having or even finding time. NaNoWriMo taught me that you can always make time for writing; it's just a matter of priorities.

Throughout the month of November, if you're doing NaNoWriMo, you get pep talks by authors e-mailed to you. And they really do work; there were a few days where if I hadn't read a pep talk I wouldn't have written that day, mostly because they give you permission to write badly and encourage you that all published novels start out terribly (I'm not sure that's true, but I'll take it when I'm feeling insecure about my writing). The post event pep talk was from author Peter Carey (http://petercareybooks.com/). It hit home for me and I'd like to share some of it:

"...if you dream of making something original and beautiful and true, if you imagine seeing your book reviewed, or in the window of a book store, you're in the same position as the ambitious swimmer—you've got a lot of training to do, a lot of muscles to build, a lot of habits to start establishing right now, today.

...you have to write regularly, every day. You have to treat this as the single most important part of your life. You do not need anything as fancy as inspiration, just this steady habit of writing regularly even when you're sick or sad or dull. Nothing must stop you... If you wish to be a like the champion who swims for four hours every day of the year, you will need extraordinary will. You either have this or you don't, but you won't know unless you try .

...turn off your television. The television is your enemy. It will stop you doing what you wish to do. If you wish to watch TV, you do not want to be a serious writer, which is fine.

But if you do pull that plug you've just created time for that exercise which is going to build up your writing muscles like nothing else. It's called reading. Perhaps you are already reading good books for several hours a day, in which case you don't need me to preach at you. Forgive me. I only mention this because I have met an extraordinary number of beginners who don't think they need to read anything too much."

I feel like Peter Carey wrote this for me. I KNOW I have to write every day. I know that it doesn't matter whether I feel like it or not, whether I'm feeling inspired or not. I know that the TV robs me of precious and valuable time that I could be using to read or write. And yet I don't do anything about it. And I know it isn't because I can't. I just don't. So like Peter Carey says: I will need extraordinary will. And I need to stop with the excuses already. Yes, I'm tired, and stressed, and yes, my marking pile is a foot deep, and yes, my house is a disaster and yes, I was inspired to write something while sitting in church and now that inspiration is gone. SO WHAT?! None of those are good enough excuses. And I know it. I just have to do something about it.

Why is that so hard?!

A Glimpse into My NaNoWriMo Journey

For the past 24 days, I've been attempting to write a novel. The challenge to is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, which works out to an average of 1667 words per day. The intent is quantity, not quality, which is my only saving grace. I'm currently just shy of 40,000 words, which is a pretty huge accomplishment for me, not because I've written that many words, but because I haven't given up on my ideas. The hardest thing for me as a writer is to believe in myself and in my abilities. I feel like anyone can write 50,000 words in a month if they put their mind to it. And honestly, most days I feel like "anyone" in that I think my so-called "novel" is crap and that I'm just wasting my time writing it because it's drivel and garbage and worse. I especially lose heart and belief in my abilities when I read exceptionally crafted words by other people I know who are also doing NaNoWriMo. I feel like I'm deluding myself into thinking I actually have anything worthwhile to say and that I actually have any talent with this whole writing thing. But I think a huge part of being a writer is fighting, and conquering, your inner critic. So if the only thing I accomplish over these 30 days is to tell the insecure, "i'm-not-good-enough" writer inside of me to shut up and I keep writing anyway, I've succeeded. At least, that's what I tell myself to comfort and appease the part of me that is terrified that I'll hate what I've produced when this is over.

NaNoWriMo: Take Two

Well, right about now, another official month of novel writing kicks into gear and I'm really excited. I wasn't sure I was going to try it again this year, since I quit partway through last year, but I think I have a really good idea that has a ton of potential, so we'll see what happens. You can check out my progress here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/406730

two poems: same topic, different approach

I wanted to write about the idea that sometimes, when we're treated by someone as if we don't matter, when someone who's supposed to care about us starts ignoring us, then sometimes it's easier to turn that indifference into our own and use it to deaden the pain of being treated badly. These poems began as one poem, but I soon realized that I had two distinct images going on and while I could link them, perhaps even well, it seemed like the poem should be separated into two. I like the first poem - "Narcotic" - better because I think that for some of us, emotion of any kind is like a drug and we often treat it that way... we allow our emotions to control us or we abuse them rather than learn how to process and own our emotions. The second poem - "Frozen Pyre" - actually encapsulates my original idea of countering anger by freezing oneself from the inside out to deaden the pain. I didn't spend as much time on it and I think it needs more work, but I still like the imagery. I hope you enjoy.

Narcotic

Your callous detachment cuts
so profoundly deep
the pain licks my bones.

So:

I compress my despair
into a capsule of disregard
and swallow it.

I willingly pierce my skin with your aloofness,
shoot your indifference into my veins.
Morphine for the agony.
Anaesthetic for the misery.

I wrap the tourniquet of your disinterest
around my heart so that,
although hardened crystals of insensitivity
sluggishly ride my thickening blood
and cut me open like broken glass,
the lacerations fail to revive.


I’ve distilled your cruelty into an opiate of apathy.

Frozen Pyre

How dare you ignore me?
Your impassivity is ignorant,
pitiless and malicious.

The fire of resentment
fuels my righteous indignation,
and burns me with rage.

Such intensity of emotion cannot be maintained
without permanent damage.

It’s a matter of survival:
I must cool the passionate embers
until dispassion takes their place.
I must allow your cold-bloodedness
to chill my heated blood.

I pack my heart in dry ice.
The permafrost is abysmal.
I become so brittle,
the flesh cracks off my bones.

I am freezing from the inside out.

And I am finally immune:
a senseless skeleton.

notes on creativity

I was doing some research while developing an ELA 30 unit plan and I came across this excerpt from the intro to a university course:

Creativity is a quality that is highly valued, but not always well understood. Those who have studied and written about it stress the importance of a kind of flexibility of mind. Studies have shown that creative individuals are more spontaeous, expressive, and less controlled or inhibited. They also tend to trust their own judgement and ideas-- they are not afraid of trying something new.

A common misunderstanding equates creativity with originality. In point of fact, there are very few absolutely original ideas. Most of what seems to be new is simply a bringing together of previously existing concepts in a new way. Psychologist and author Arthur Koestler referred to this merging of apparently unrelated ideas as bissociation. The fact that creative thinking is based on a knowledge of previous work in one's field is the justification for teaching the history and foundations of a given field as a resource for future research and creative work. It is possible to develop ones ability to think intuitively and creatively.

Thus creativity is the ability to see connections and relationships where others have not.

http://char.txa.cornell.edu/
[Red text my emphasis.]

I love this because it's my own understanding of creativity. Ecclesiastes asserts that "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, 'Look! This is something new'? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time" (1:9-10). All creativity on earth originates and flows from the ultimate Creator; since we are all made in His image, we are all creative. Yet that also means that we cannot make something new: only God can make something from nothing. So, as creative beings, we are compelled to find fresh ways to work with what we have already been given.

Creativity especially interests me in the field of writing. I spend a lot of time reading and the stuff that fascinates me the most and draws me in the most deeply is created by writers who have figured out a new way to say something. They've painted an image in words or found a way to weave words together that is entirely unique and forces the reader to experience something from a new perspective. As an aspiring writer, I am constantly striving for a distinct way to present a known concept and thereby force my reader into a new experience with words and images and ideas.

Creativity is the ability to make the old new. Which is what Christ does for us: he transforms our old selves into renewed beings. Coincidence? I think not.

antidotes for a bad day

• reruns of favourite TV programs while curled up on the couch
• a hot bath with a glass of wine and a good book
• dinner with a good friend
• running in perfect fall weather
• msn chats with a long-distance friend
• quality time with a significant other
• going to bed early

a poem in progress

I posted my first draft of a poem I recently wrote here but I want to spend more time on it, revise it, and submit it for a competition, so it's off the blog for now...

autumn’s melancholy

with the season’s subtle shift
death crawls in
without protest or complaint
to impede its advancement

leaves lose suppleness
drifting to the ground with a sigh of inevitability
decay’s cloying scent taints the breeze
and assaults the senses with a pungent musty sweetness
vibrant colours fade with resignation
the landscape transforms
into a dull dun monochrome
the brittle shifting of the dry grass
becomes the rattling of bones and the whispers of ghosts

life is retreating for hibernation
blanketed by listless and unresponsive iciness
pristinely beautiful but numbing to the bone
a pledge that even the deepest parts of ourselves
are not immune

death
tiptoes on the cooler currents of change
slinks in with the blackened dimness of the longer nights

amidst the pervading chill and shadows
hope wavers
emotions harden
belief becomes shifty and illusive

but

beneath the melancholy exterior
life is regenerating
determined to defy those icy fingers of fatality
intent on thrusting through the shallow surface
and emerging with the pure green fragrance of full colour blooms

missing out

This weather is making it hard for me to enjoy my work. I feel like I'm missing out. My classroom is in the basement with no windows and I miss the sunshine. This morning I was driving to school at 8:00 a.m. The sun was shining and it was 12 degrees and climbing; I saw a runner and I felt cheated. It was perfect running weather and I was on my way to my little box in the basement. Obviously there's so much more to my job than that, and I really do enjoy it (most days anyhow), but all I wanted to do was turn the Jeep around, go back home, change into my running gear, and enjoy the morning while hearing my feet pound the pavement. I think I just miss summer.

My Publication

My little publication arrived in the mail today (well, I picked it up today) and it's pretty cool to see my writing in an actual booklet. It's nothing fancy, but it looks like a poetry/writing magazine that was professionally printed. I'm impressed with the finished product. I'm going to order a bunch more copies and sell them to friends and family, so if you're interested, let me know. I think I'll charge $10 per booklet, just to cover my printing and shipping costs. If you want to preview it, click on the title of this post to view it on the Lulu website, where I published it.