Carolee Bennett –> poet. artist. crankypants.
My reading list is organized with the most recent on top so if, by chance, you stop by more than once for an update, you only have to scroll forever if you have forever to scroll! Note that I’ve extended the time frame to 12-ish months right out of the gate. My days of being so ambitious all the damn time are way behind me.
Part of the agitation I’ve been feeling comes from failure to be disciplined, inability to see a path or progress and a tendency to go to extremes. It’s not that I want to reign anything in, but I do want to be more aware and purposeful. So finding that poster gave me an idea: look at the three experiences (eat, pray, love) as a useful organizing principle for that effort.
It’s not always easy to toot your own horn, but you must. You must. You must. You must. “These days,” said the old lady poet, “it’s one of the only ways to get your work out there.” You’re on social media scrolling and scrolling anyway, and you’re probably using it to praise other writers at least some of the time. Throw yourself a bone.
“Fuel” is my word for 2018. I want to fuel my mind and my body. I want to create energy instead of allowing it to drain out. So that’s my focus for 2018: behaviors and decisions that fuel me, that move me forward.
Nothing’s better than a poem that not only moves you but also inspires you to pick up your own pen and get down to it. So here’s what’s been doing it for me lately: List #2 of 3 poems inspiring me right now to write!
It is a victory to dedicate yourself to a creative pursuit that, even though it’s pretty clumsy, makes you feel like the kind of human who can access the deep love in the universe… no matter what conditions are like above ground. It’s like finding — and using — a superpower.
I’ve been trying to pay attention to my process this month. Clearly, at least so far, I am able to manage a daily writing practice. Why is it that I spend months and months telling myself otherwise?
Excerpts/teasers from my December poem-a-day!
I won’t pretend to understand the science, but Smithsonian Magazine says goldfish make alcohol to survive winter. Seems reasonable enough. I’m all about the spiked eggnog this time of year. But that’s not my only strategy for surviving winter.
Over time, I imagine, I strike some kind of strange balance, but it makes it really difficult to know who I am. I have trouble seeing the “both-and.” I have trouble seeing the multitudes contained as part of a cohesive whole.
