The Art of the Creative Blahs

thermometer-398735_1920It’s another hot smokey summer in Oregon.  It appears that temperatures of 90 and above and forest fires are the new normal.  Summer used to be my favorite season here but now that the jet stream has settled further south, spring and fall will get my vote.  Then air quality has been so poor you really don’t want to be outside doing much.

Motivation has been difficult.  My studio does not have air conditioning.  If I don’t get work done first thing in the morning, it doesn’t get done.  I think I’m getting summer cabin fever.  Who knew there was such a thing?

Rather than just push through it, my usual MO, maybe I should learn to roll with it and make this season the one to read, watch movies, and write more?  Maybe this is a good time to relax my expectations and go with the flow….

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Continue reading “The Art of the Creative Blahs”

Staying Tuned to The Muse

 

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“Wild Birds in My Head”  by the author

I’m always staying tuned for ideas (see my post “Where my Ideas Come From”  ) but sometimes they pursue me- relentlessly.  Think about wild birds flapping in your head endlessly or like someone tugging on your apron strings constantly.  Yes, the ruckus will go away eventually, but not entirely.  The inspiration will just go to someone else to be manifested and then pretty soon your muse will give up on you all together and you will be very lonely.

WRITE ME

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The poem tugged on my apron strings

Begging for attention

When I ignored it

It crept into the kitchen of my mind

Rattling the pots and pans with such a clatter

I could bear it no longer

“Stop!”I cried

“Don’t you know I wasn’t an English major?”

“Find someone else to write you!”

But the poem persisted with such a fuss

That I relented,

Sat down and wrote it,

Then kicked it out the door to the internet

Sighing with relief

Until I felt another tug

on my apron strings.

Poetry Readings & ADD

‘Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.’

e. e. cummings

I’ve been writing poetry as a practice for over a year now.  It seemed to be a natural progression to attend poetry readings.  My first was in November and then I attended two this past weekend as part of a local poetry festival.  I haven’t been very successful thus far.

As I’ve aged, I’ve become increasingly ADD.  Sitting and listening for long stretches of time is torturous.  When I was teaching middle school, I always kept in mind those students like me, varying activities & interspersing periods of moving around in the classroom. In the adult world, most of the time there are not those opportunities.

Luckily at the end of both readings I attended this weekend, the poets were very animated, funny and irreverent, and provided material I could relate to.

Here is a glimpse into an ADD brain during a poetry reading……

TAMALES

The speaker’s words begin to melt together

the chair feels increasingly uncomfortable

my lower back aches

I sit up straight, change position

Then as I close my sleepy eyes

I feel the secret portal of my brain woosh shut

allowing no more in

Come on, you can do this, I say to myself

Too late.  

Words, sentences, phrases rain down on me

shedding like water off a duck’s back

forming rivulets, then puddles at my feet, then rivers

that flow into the vast ocean of uncomprehended language

I nudge my friend in the seat to my left

I’m done, I say

She says, one more speaker then we get tamales

I sigh and wait for the tamales.

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