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.
I’m a known sucker for writing prompts and packaging and all things campy/kitschy. The online advent calendar of poetry prompts from Two Sylvias Press saw me coming a mile away.
the 30/30 challenge was tapping into an energy i’d enjoyed when i was writing most feverishly, a part of me that i thought had left the building.
something interesting: in writing today’s poem i felt a natural energy and momentum that i haven’t felt with my writing for at least 2 or 3 years. they’re all still first drafts, of course, but that feeling — it’s how a writer knows she’s alive.
as you can see, divorce crept into one of the poems, but it was a fun one, kinda campy, so i give myself a pass. (and who doesn’t enjoy watching t. rex enjoy himself at the feast?)