What kind of writer am I?
I asked myself that question while reading a book about Rachel Carson, known as the patron saint of the environmental movement. She wrote about our connection to nature. So, I thought…what in the world do I write about all the time.
Then I said to myself…no cat or dog to even consult with…let me continue with my little story before I get sidetracked as usual…so I said…maybe I am an observant writer. I write about everything and anything I observe. I am always observing and arriving at conclusions in my mind. Now, more recently I am starting to question my conclusions due to another book I am reading titled “Loving What Is” by Byron Katie. Progress and evolvement in this synthesized bundle of energy. I need to evolve, so when I convert to invisible energy, the transfer will be easier.
You see, I told you, going on a tangent again. So I am going to try something new here, I am going to invite you to read my first little poem.
I cannot come up with anything decent. This was a harder task than I envisioned. Cannot figure out also how to do single space when I press Enter. Conspiracy of the universe not to allow me to try to be a poet. Pondering…still pondering. Nada.
Even the little thing about roses are red…violets…you know the rest…now I will not underestimate anyone who is trying to come up with a single sentence of material. It is as if all my artsy neurons have taken a dive into some cave pursuing another writer with more talent. Good luck! Leave me with my mediocre output, I don’t think I am ready for the big lights and big paychecks. Not on this lifetime, at least. And definitely, not writing for a living. My hats off to all of you writers out there.
So…it was today…5 October, 2011…a day of finding out that poetry is not an easy thing to do or create.
Take some time during this lovely weekend and write a little poem to yourself, your spouse or your cat or dog. I will applaud you from here. I will be back next Monday.
Your Happy Contessa
“To write for thee is a pleasure indeed.” Moi
2 thoughts on “I write…I write…I type…I type…”
I’ve never been able to write a respectable poem, and no longer bother trying. My brain is wired for prose.
Sometimes I wonder how is my brain wired. Probably opposite of what it is supposed to be. It is a jungle in my head. I think if each one of us really try, we can come up with a nice little poem. I am going to try sometime. Thanks for keeping up.