Enter the moment when now becomes yes
when dreams fly free, unbound from gravity and logic.
I sit in this place
in the second, the minute, the hour of possibility.
A woman looks at her lover;
I’ve got the introduction to a story.
A child screams in a store;
I’ve imagined whole chapters: the angry mother, the abusive husband, the lost job.
An old man coughs;
I’ve decided on the poison he imbibed.
All this in an instant.
Then comes the work
the butt in chair, pedal to the metal
BEWARE the cliché
SHUN the formula
WORRY about the industry
the agent
the publisher
the editor
the distributor
the bookseller
the future reader uploading scanned stories, downloading pirated novels on a cellphone/computer/mini-mobile-office.
DAMN my computer! It’s crashed again.
FUCK YOU, reviewer! How dare you take my baby and shred it so?
WHY did she win that award?
WHY did he get that incredible deal?
Options?
Co ops?
Paid Book Tours?
Televisionradiornewspaperswebsitesblogsbooktrailerspostcardsposterspens.
no.
I won’t do it.
NO!
I go outside.
I breathe, let my shoulders relax.
The warm air is velvet in my lungs, smooth and soft and elegant.
Above me the sky is the most amazing blue.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Do you know . . .
I think this blue isn’t of the Earth.
It’s magic.
Yes.
A magic blue from another world.
Or another time.
Perhaps it’s . . .
If this is what being a writer entails….so be it!! :-]
Beautiful, Pari. Sounds like you’re at the launching pad. Anything is possible. It’s a good place to be.
Lovely, Pari. The first verses encapsulated my pre-published self. The latter my post-launch paranoia.
R.J.,
Oh, I left out large portions of what it is to be a writer; I didn’t include any of the self-doubt, the frustration when your work just doesn’t work . . .
But I hope that the end of the poem evoked possibility — the fact that a writer can never, truly stop creating.
Thank you, Stephen.
I’d love it if people would include a word or two about what it is to be a writer — to them.
High praise indeed, Louise.
Thank you.
Just wonderful, Pari. Very clever, though provoking and emotional. Thank you.
Alli,
You’re welcome.
When I do something like this, write poetry, it’s always a risk. Many people don’t "get it." I’m very glad it meant something to you . . .
I’m one of those who doesn’t ‘get’ poetry (most of the time) but this I did. guess cuz I can more or less relate. Very nice, indeed. =)
Terri,
You made me laugh.
This poem isn’t meant to be obscure. I just wanted to give a snapshot of what it’s like to be a writer — from initial inspiration to despair to that darn inspiration once more. The circle of creativity.
For us, it’s really the circle of life, isn’t it??? Very nice, Pari.
Merci, JT.
I’ve never seen the Lion King in its entirety, but the beginning to that song about the circle of life came to mind when I read your post.
It seemed to me, reading this, as if you were addressing the persistent question, "Where do you get your ideas?" The answer has always seemed pretty obvious to me and I think you really touched on it here: If you’re a writer, and you know you’re going to be writing, about something, then everything you see and hear holds a kernel of story idea. You just have to open yourself to it.
On the other hand, if you want to be a "successful" published writer, you have to also pay attention to and devote some time and effort to the business side of things.
But being a writer always comes back to that freedom to imagine and create stories out of everyday events and ordinary people, to wonder "what if." You should be poetic more often. 😉
BCB,
Merci.