Light (Poem for National Poetry Day 2015)

Light, I realized, is the display of love

The outward sign, of inner devotion

You are the reason I know this

Its absence, I know now

Is a sure sign, of no hope in a relationship

I saw, when I met you

A light in your eyes

And knew that everything

That had gone before

Was a pale imitation

I can now spot impostors of love

From a mile away

And it’s the lack of light, in their eyes

That betrays them

I fought the narrative (and the narrative won)

TweetsSix Thirty-Six AM. I’ve been up all night again, urging myself to work on the never-ending rewrites of my novel and resenting every moment of it. I do this a lot and it’s now beyond a joke. Well, as Joyce Summers once said, it ends now. I’ve found the problem and, spoiler alert, it’s me: I’m flogging a dead horse.

As much as I’m loath to admit it, parts of the story were simply dead. The plot was weak and lifeless in places and, now I’ve stopped trying to wrestle life into them, over the course of multiple mind-numbing re-writes, Writing is enjoyable again. Huzzah!

(Remember that time I said writing fanfic was a million times easier than writing “original” fiction? Well, I still kinda stick by that point. But I also now realize that my original story was way more harder than it should ever have been.)

I have ripped out* the sections that weren’t working and now I’m left with a much shorter document that’s even further from being finished, but one that’s also more likely to be finished. Honestly, I feel like a weight has been lifted. My novel is no longer my burden, but is my baby again. (That probably sounds weird to anyone who’s never tried writing a book, and maybe even to some people who have.)

Anyway, I guess the purpose of this post is just to document my breakthrough. If you’ve had similar issues, feel free to tell me about it in the comment section.

I’m gonna go write some new chapters for my novel now. (I typed that with a smile on my face. You have no idea what a change that is.)

Good morning, everyone!


*When I say ripped out, what I mean is that I’ve removed them from the Word document, and placed them in a completely different one. They shall remain there, in the scrap folder, probably until the novel is complete and I am 100% sure I don’t want/need to go through them one last time. I’ve been informed this is the right way to go about such things.

No Guarantees (Poem)

On this, the second anniversary of the death of Seamus Heaney, I thought I’d share a poem I’d written, inspired by one he’d written. This is called No Guarantees, Inspired by Elegy for the Stillborn Child.

 

Some things we take for granted

Like having a long, healthy life

Some things we assume, we’ll naturally receive

When the allotted time scrolls around

Like jobs, relationships, kids

Some things we consider

Even more guaranteed than that

Like birth, death, and taxes

Or the fact that death will always follow birth

But sometimes even facts fail us.