Writers write, it’s what they do. Sometimes they might write short stories, or articles, novels even, and at other times they might write poetry. Many writers go from one kind of writing to another, happily or not so happily, for a variety of different reasons.
I’m not an employed writer, I write for myself, and for possible publication, but I don’t have a boss watching over me, telling me what to write. So if I feel like writing a poem, I can do that, and if I feel like working on my novel, I can do that.
I am the editor of a newsletter for the town on Mallala, but that is a position I took on myself, and though I try make the newsletter as good and professional looking as possible, it’s a completely volunteer role, and I do it simply because I enjoy doing it.
I do get paid for some of my writing-related activities, but that’s from sales of my books, or payment for presenting workshops. And of course, those lovely ‘passive income’ items, royalties, and Educational Lending Rites, that arrive in my bank account at their allotted times.
So, I write for myself, when and what I want to write, but of course, some of the time, I suspect I choose one writing form, because I’m avoiding the writing of another. This is what happened today, I think. I’d just finished my breakfast, and was in that, thinking about the day to come mode, and flicking through my emails. I saw an email about Charles Bukowski, and followed the link to his poetry, which I read of poem of, and an idea for a poem arrived, so I wrote that poem.
I quite liked the new poem, so I edited it a bit more, and then promptly put it on another of my blogs, my second favourite one, the one about dogs and the garden. This is where the poem is, and a little bit about the writing of the poem. It’s a bird poem, but a Covid-19 related poem too.
You’ll find it here
Of course, all of this poem writing, and blogging ‘stuff’ I’m doing today, is actually procrastinating, because I’m putting off getting back into writing some more of my novel. I had a good day yesterday, adding almost 2,000 more words to my Cosy Murder Mystery “Hot Winds of Death At Talloola”.
I know I’m not the only writer who does this, but I wonder why we do it? Getting in the ‘flow’ is a wonderful place to be, the time when the words are flowing beautifully,and you can sit and write for hours, barely getting a word wrong. I was there yesterday, why wouldn’t I want to be there again today?
I suspect it’s because I fear the words might not be as wonderful, as they felt. Fear can be a word killer, for sure, at times. You have to keep on though, face the fear, and do it anyway. No, make that I have to face the fear, and do it anyway.
You can do whatever you want!
But back to the beginning of this blog post – the skipping from piece, to piece, to piece isn’t slacking off, because a poem a lovely new poem, has come into the world, and been read by at least one other person already. And two blog posts will have been written, and once I finish this, and my lunch, some more words of my novel will be written today.
Definitely!
I’d love to know what you think about these thoughts. And don’t forget to check out that new poem too!
Carolyn Cordon - Creative 