To pay attention

"To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work." --Mary Oliver

I get several daily quotes via email. Often the platitudes are similar and not very interesting to me, but this one really struck a chord. Maybe it's because I've been writing poems most days since the beginning of the year and am more acutely aware of my surroundings and and my thoughts and looking at both more closely. Maybe it's because I've edited a couple of fiction manuscripts recently where the description was not handled so well; it was all too vague, too general to paint good word pictures for me.

And while I think Ms. Oliver may have intended her statement to encompass all of us human beings, I think this is particularly pertinent for those of us who are creatives, whether painters or sculptors or writers of poetry or prose. I'm coming to believe that authenticity in creation lies in the details. While the concept is important and some works are greatly enhanced by the big picture or big idea, paying attention to what we experience with the senses as well as we experience in our inner worlds and transcribing that to the page or the clay or the canvas is what it is all about.

It may well be that the most important question we can be asking ourselves as we do our creative work and as we make our way in the world is What am I paying attention to?

Two points of view

In my 31-day poetry writing challenge, we were asked to write a poem about something in the media and then then write a poem from a different point of view. Here are my responses to a news story on Yahoo from a Florida elementary school.

Old News


Jimmy’s pint-size backpack
Held 24 new crayons, an open
Package of Gummi bears, and a worn
Navy blue sweater of his brother Todd’s.

His Winnie the Pooh lunch pail
Held a Tupperware of cold pasta—
No sauce, the way he liked it—corn chips
In a Ziploc, and slices of Fuji with the peel carefully removed.

In the left pocket of his jeans, Jimmy carried a
Wretchedly disabled GI Joe, mauled and
Mangled by Rosie, his Uncle Brad’s pit bull,
One hot afternoon last July.

Weighing down his right pocket, the loaded Smith & Wesson
He’d found under the seat of Brad’s Ford F-150
That morning when Brad stopped at the 7-11 for
A Red Bull and a lotto ticket.

Jimmy liked Thursdays at Moseley Elementary
Music circle on the library carpet
It took Ms Ellison two turns around the whispering 5-year-olds
To spot the pistol next to Jimmy’s pocket.

Brad never missed it.

Bad Night, Bad Morning


Sun through the broken blind ran a knife
Into his temple
He groaned, rolling away from the pain
And into the woman

She grunted in her sleep
Pulled the sheets over her head
He couldn’t pull her name
from the night before

Cold water helped
Back of the neck, over the eyes
Toothpaste on a finger
Already late

He left the motor running
Rang the bell, hugged his sister
Jimmy handed him the lunchbox
He hoisted the kid into the cab, belted him in

Quick stop, five minutes
Belted the boy in again
Couldn’t the kid sit still?
School grounds with two minutes to spare

Brad never missed it.

The reality of fleeting time

In November, a friend and colleague died of a heart attack at age 48. I've been wondering these past months what dreams Peter had that he didn't have time to fulfill. Besides more time with his wife and seeing his young children grow up, did Peter have a "bucket list"? Did he have places he wanted to explore? Or books to write? Or music to learn to play? We never had that conversation, but I've been having it with myself.

Last post, I listed my writing dreams for the year. And the more writing I do, the more I want to do. The same is true of my painting and collage work. And now I'm writing poems and really having fun with it. What ideas do I want to explore in the novel? What characters make come to life? And while I'd be thrilled if one of my books sold big and lots of people read it, it's not why I write.

I write for the joy of the left/right brain connection, for the thrill of creating and organizing and resolving the issues that come up for my characters. There's a lot of satisfaction for me in creating, and perhaps in leaving my voice behind when I go.

So while my 2011 dream list seems ambitious, I'm really wanting creative activity to be a huge part of my life from here on out. We don't know how much time we have or what will happen in the time remaining. I want mine to be rich and full and productive. And I take to heart this question: If not now, then when?

Setting your own challenges

In November, I was a writing retreat at the Oregon Coast, and one evening at circle, a would-be novelist was lamenting her ability to stay focused and be productive. One of the poets spoke up and offered her a challenge: If she could complete 10 chapters in 60 days, the poet would give her $100. Today the novelist collected the money. She had written 15 chapters in the 60 days.

Now, not every challenge is such a directly lucrative one, but having a distinct, measurable goal is often helpful whether it's weight loss, saving money, or producing art. The poet did as much for her friend by stating the required production and the deadline as by offering the money, maybe more. This can be especially helpful for big projects. Breaking them down into measurable pieces makes it concrete, makes it seem real. Saying I'm going to work on my novel for a few hours this week is less motivating for me than saying I'm going to rework two chapters and draft a new chapter.

What challenges would you like to embark on this year in your writing? What would be feasible and still a good stretch? What would help you step more fully into your writing life?

Here are my writing dreams for 2011:

Write 100 poems
Write 100 fictional prompts
Finish the novel I just drafted
Go on 4 writing retreats
Enter 3 writing contests
Teach at our local writing conference
Start my third novel

Ambitious? You bet. Why not? If I get even half of that done, I'll be thrilled. What's on your dream list?

Creative accomplishments

Late in December or early in January each year, I sit down with my creative journal and make a list of accomplishments for the year. Here are some of the questions I ask myself:

1. Did I journal every day, even if just for a few minutes? Daily journaling is not only a spiritual practice for me (clears the mind) but it has really helped me improve my writing. It's practice!
2. Did I find or create opportunities to be creative with others? This could be retreats, classes, writing days, etc.
3. Did I create enough accountability structures during the year to keep me focused and rolling on projects or practices? This can be a writing group, creative group, email buddy, course or workshop.
4. Similarly, did I find ways to maintain momentum on my big project(s)? This is particularly important for me because other than the journal, I don't write daily but rather in longer sessions every week or two.
5. Did I balance my creative efforts and use more parts of my brain, spirit, and imagination? (For me, this means did I do visual art as well as writing.)
6. Did I support the creativity of others (coaching, mentoring, hosting, gentle critiquing)?
7. Did I take risks in subject matter, form, or in putting my work out into the world?
8. Did I fill the creative well with reading, movies, museums, nature walks) on a regular basis?
9. Did I try something new?
10. Did I nurture all aspects of my health, through diet, exercise, sleep, social time?

This kind of reflection helps me set a good intention for the next year and acknowledge myself for my efforts. It's also great fun to share lists with other creative folks. It's a way to get great ideas on how to implement some of these things.

Writing about sound

I've been writing poetry this month with Sage Cohen and find myself longing for a better vocabulary of nuance and expression. I'm well read and have an excellent, I think, vocabulary for prose but I'm finding that I need more words, words for color, for the names and qualities of trees and birds and flowers, for the weather. And in particular for the way things sound. For it's not only the sounds of the words but the way the world sounds that I want to express more clearly.

One of my graduate courses was in a French literary exercise called Explication de texte. This is a very formal, structured reading of a poem or piece of prose in which you dissect not only the meanings, large and small, of the content, but you explain (explicate) the way the author does this through word choice, repetitions, rhythms, etc. At first, I found this extremely difficult to do, but with practice, I learned a great deal about the writer's craft.

As part of that course, we ended up with a lot of vocabulary study in words and one list I remember in particular had to do with verbs of sound. I've no idea where that list is and since it wasn't French to English but rather French words with definitions in French, it wouldn't give me what I'm looking for in English. The issue is further complicated by the fact that French is a considerably more precise language than English (it's why for so long French has remained a crucial language for diplomats of all nations) and leans more heavily on the verb for denotation and connotation where English leans on noun structures.

I specifically remember learning the word "grincer," which describes the sound of metal grinding on metal. I'm wanting to discover and express some of that precision in my work. Maybe I have to make up my own words. Maybe there's a source out there. If anybody knows one, I'd love to know of it.

Imitation as learning tool

I'm taking a poetry writing class with local Sage Cohen (31-day poem-a-day) and our prompt recently was to analyze a favorite poem and then use some elements from it for our own writing. One of my all-time favorites is The Lake Isle of Innisfree by Yeats. Here is the original and then my own poem using some of his meter and phrasing.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, 5
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; 10
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.


Aldermarsh

I will arrive on the ferry, the last 10 minutes of wind and expectation in my hair.

The pavement, the swoosh of cars on the city hill beside me, gone now.

Instead, deep in the night there will be the coyote call, the deep hoooo of the barn owl, and the stars will glitter over the silent garden gone to bed.
The alders will keep watch over the marsh as peace comes dropping slow, dropping away the stories of not enough.

I will arise and go now, but in my heart, the peace remains, a living space in the deep heart’s core.