55 Fridays: Hands

[Side note #1: I know I haven’t posted my poem for yesterday’s assignment, nor have I done today’s assignment. That will come over the weekend. The poem I’m working on, requires my full attention. I had thoughts, *thoughts* about how I wanted it to look but I am not that good of a poet to make it happen.

Yet.

Anyway, on to 55 Fridays, this time done as a poem, because of the whole Daily Post, Writing 201 Poetry Course.

I have more thoughts, but that will come later.]

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TBT: Blog Entry, Sunday, October 11, 2009

[Side note #1: I present this from my first blog, several years after I stopped writing regularly on it, without any rewrites, correcting the spelling or the grammar.]

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Fiction vs Non-fiction

Last night I had a dream and as is usual for me, I remembered a great bit of detail about this dream. For instance, I knew the two main characters in this dream (both girls) were both aspects of “me;” the me in “real life” (still idealized, of course, this was a dream) and I suppose the me that I wish to be, to be called “model me” (practically perfect in every way, except I knew that “real life” me didn’t like the other me). Go Freudian on that.

Anyway, I also knew that this dream took place around some sort of major seaside (vaguely European) city and near a school, perhaps a university of some sort. It was night and we were walking back to the dorms, she on her bike and me walking. It wasn’t too too late (perhaps evening), but the seedier elements of the city were starting to come out. Most just eyed us, but a few started to follow us, catcalling and whatnot.

Not the most significant part of the dream because I was not scared and did not care. Though, near the end of the dream one of these seedier elements forced the “model me” to hand over her backpack in exchange for a smaller backpack. No complaints from her, by the way. Again, what’s my subconscious, if anything, trying to tell me?

Anyway, the major focal point of the dream (and the one I vividly remember) was whether or not “I” was a better fiction writer or a non-fiction writer. Model me said I was a better fiction writer while the real me preferred to write non-fiction. I went on to say that it didn’t matter what genre I wrote in, but the fact that I should be writing everyday. (Thanks, subconscious. I’ve gotten THAT message loud and clear.) And that by writing everyday I will become a better writer…no matter which genre I eventually end up writing.

So, in my real waking life, I think I am a better non-fiction writer. I have over 50 journals that I have written in for 3/4 of my life. Also, let’s take into consideration the amount of writing that I am doing currently for graduate school. I am (marginally) more aware of how I write and what I write. I am writing about what matters to me (scholastically speaking) and I am more aware of my audience (whether it’s my professor or the occasional reader on my poor, poor blog.)

So, maybe I will take a cue from my subconscious and write more. Perhaps, not online, butsomewhere. And everyday, as my subconscious told (yelled) at me.

[Side note #2: Thoughts?]

Writing 201: Drawer

What are we looking at today?

We’re looking at these things:

  • prompt:  drawer
  • form:  ode
  • device: apostrophe

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how to go about this.

But as always, I’ll give it a go.

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Prompts Tuesday: Hamish, my Classic iPod

When I saw this article, I knew right away that I too needed to write about Hamish, my classic iPod. But Charlie, you might be saying, can’t you just download your music to your phone?

The answer is, yes, of course I f’ing can.

Do I want to download my music to my phone?

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Writing 201: Fingers

Today’s assignment gives us fingers, the prose poem, and assonance.

Ready?

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Writing 201: Hero(ine)

And here I was feeling pretty confident about the past poems.

This one I am sure will give me a headache. But I am procrastinating and isn’t my unspoken motto is “do it anyway”?

Why yes. Yes, it is.

I don’t want to do it, but I’ll do it anyway.

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Writing 201: Poetry Potluck

Are you kidding me?

I don’t know what my favorite poem is. I am sorely lacking in this department.

The only poem I know by heart, I learned in grade school. It was this one and I can still recite it word for word.

What does that say about me?

I like rhyming, apparently.

Oh, and silly poems.

Suggestions on poetry that y’all like?

Go Down the Rabbit Hole: A Writer’s Manifesto

Writing for Digital Media

1. You are the work. The work is you: both an articulation of the self and a possibility for self-reflection. Be honest in creation: allow yourself to bleed into the work, but also allow it to work on you. Your work can show you things: illuminate and clarify your own thoughts, motivations, actions. If you do it right, you will find the work changing you, too.

2. Thinking is process. Laying on the floor. Sitting on park benches. Getting lost on purpose. These are all working. Learn the difference between mindless distraction and mindful wandering.

3. Go down the rabbit hole. Sometimes the work isn’t about what you think it is. Allow yourself to get lost down alleyways, to follow a train of thought around a corner. Don’t feel you need to reign yourself in. Too much focus squeezes all the possibility for revelation out of the work.

4. Fear…

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55 Fridays: Fog, Metaphor, Elegy?

Her breath came in puffs, swirling like lazy dandelions before drifting and mixing with the wintry morning fog. She wasn’t the only lonely soul waiting for the errant bus; others huddled together, close but not touching, only their eyes peeking out from beneath heavy layers.

This is the winter of our discontent, she though sourly.

***

Because if I’m going to do this I’m going to drive it into the ground.