Well, I did it. It didn’t take that long, just a few quick key strokes and it was done, finalized, completed. Looking on what I did, only time will tell if this was a good decision or the fantasies of a maddened mind. What I have done may seem like nothing to many of you, those of you who seem to write with apparent ease. Those whose words are oft quoted and quilted onto throw pillows to be sold at the local Home Good’s store, in various shades of fuchsia, tangerine or one of a dozen pastel colors, to one day end up on some thrift shop bargain table.
I have signed up to take a poetry class, yes, a real class on writing poetry. It’s a GrubStreet offering entitled; 6 Weeks, 6 Poems. A challenging class that will require that I write 6 poems over the 6 week period that will be workshopped in class, either to show I may have a slight sliver of talent or prove me to be a total and incompetent fraud. The class starts in January, after the holiday rush, so in a way I should have plenty of ammunition to write something, then again, in the seasonal rush my mind may just turn into mush. I’ve only been writing, or trying to write, poetry in the past year. My original thought was that poetry would force me to describe a scene or feeling using few words to evoke in the reader a sense of being there, after all, that is what the really great poets are able to accomplish.
In the meantime, I will continue to spew out more of my own poetic nonsense and post them onto my blog, exposing them to the light of day. Being a writer, or trying to be a writer, takes a certain amount of courage, to put out one’s creation is like watching your child going to school for the first day. There’s that lump in the throat, the anxiety that maybe you missed something, or said something, or did something that will be dissected like a frog in a high school biology class, messy and incomplete. Yet, here I am, writing away in my own messy, incomplete, and ponderous style hoping that one day all of this writing will make sense