I'd forgotten how liberating it is sometimes to go backwards. In this case, backwards to my roots and where I started as a writer, short stories and poetry. I still write the occasional short story but the poetry - I seem to have left that behind. So yesterday, with the early morning writing hours donated to other things, I was left with the afternoon. But I don't write in the afternoon my subconscious whined. My head kept going to the unseasonably good weather that I was missing, the recent book I had been reading, the grocery list I hadn't finished... The current WIP (work in progress) was not humming forward, the writing wasn't happening.
|It's been ages since I went horseback riding - alas no inspiration here|
Desperate I procrastinated and cleaned up files. It was there that I tripped on poetry. I began reading works of days gone by and mentally air brushing a verse here and there. But curiosity soon won over nostalgia and I began writing - dabbling really and was completely surprised. By now the current WIP had been shelved in an e-drawer as I admired my latest creation.
I discovered something, poetry reminded me of my love of words. Not that I usually forget but it does get hung up in the background of the every day must dos. It's been ages since I've scribbled bits of muse inspired phrases along the edges of exercise books while sitting in a lecture hall. In the days before cellphones and classroom laptops - monotony was cured by a bit of creative writing on the edge of a binder. At least for me. Anyway, back to the poem - yesterday's poem that inspired me to get back at my WIP.
Dabbling in poetry gave yesterday's mid-afternoon blahs a jump start. Okay, it inspired this morning's run at the WIP and a good run it was. That poem inspired me to dig deeper than I might have normally for that's the beauty of poetry.
Play regularly - and the muse just might start waking you up at night.
Hmmm - does one really want that?
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