(no subject)
I write in bursts, a little more frequently than it rains in the desert but with the same concept. In the dry months I believe I can't write, or that I write only about writing, or that my writing ain't too good, or that it'd be better if I could also write in Spanish, or. In the dry months I sit and I read, and cook, and continue my life until the morning the dark, gray clouds come in and send my hair dancing in the wind. I pick up my laptop and I write, and I let myself dance in the storm, and I write, and I write, and I write, and I embrace my love for "ands" and repetition, and descriptive prose because that's the storm I feel the most alive in. Poetry is great but it feels a little clunky, a little like a new land that though I'm starting to learn the layout of and I'm not too terrible at navigating it, it doesn't flow yet. The creek isn't deep enough yet.
But then I allow myself to write, not with stops in every line but with stream of consciousness and the truth in my belly, and I write. Paragraphs that errect themselves like islands. When a volcano explodes, (go watch The Magic Schoolbus and insert here how islands are formed).
Maybe instead of a dessert storm, maybe my writing is more like islands after a volcano explodes.
So I choose to glide with the lava. I choose to write paragraph after paragraph and entry after entry without worrying whether or not my writing is good enough, or high brow enough. Maybe that's why I think I'm not a good writer - because I'm not academic in my writing, because I've never really gone to school for writing, because I don't have an MFA and my work doesn't read like the work of published poets, most that I honestly don't really connect with.
I write about myself, about my life, about nature and the landscape around me. I write with too many "ands" and too many repetitions. I write about writing and I write about not writing, and about my cat watching himself in the mirror and not being scared of the other cat in the room. I write about my girlfriend and about my past, and about how therapy is really fucking hard. I try to force myself to write in my physical journal, and I have, there are some beautiful entries in there, but it doesn't feel as organic as getting on livejournal and letting my fingers dance on the keyboard.
I don't want to force myself into stuff anymore. I don't want to try and make myself fit into boxes because I don't think my box either exists or is good enough.
I want to flow. Like the lava spilling out of a calderra, I flow.
But then I allow myself to write, not with stops in every line but with stream of consciousness and the truth in my belly, and I write. Paragraphs that errect themselves like islands. When a volcano explodes, (go watch The Magic Schoolbus and insert here how islands are formed).
Maybe instead of a dessert storm, maybe my writing is more like islands after a volcano explodes.
So I choose to glide with the lava. I choose to write paragraph after paragraph and entry after entry without worrying whether or not my writing is good enough, or high brow enough. Maybe that's why I think I'm not a good writer - because I'm not academic in my writing, because I've never really gone to school for writing, because I don't have an MFA and my work doesn't read like the work of published poets, most that I honestly don't really connect with.
I write about myself, about my life, about nature and the landscape around me. I write with too many "ands" and too many repetitions. I write about writing and I write about not writing, and about my cat watching himself in the mirror and not being scared of the other cat in the room. I write about my girlfriend and about my past, and about how therapy is really fucking hard. I try to force myself to write in my physical journal, and I have, there are some beautiful entries in there, but it doesn't feel as organic as getting on livejournal and letting my fingers dance on the keyboard.
I don't want to force myself into stuff anymore. I don't want to try and make myself fit into boxes because I don't think my box either exists or is good enough.
I want to flow. Like the lava spilling out of a calderra, I flow.