If You Run Out Of Paper

I cannot for the life of me get my current prose piece on the go.  I have been editing, adding and deleting, re-arranging but nothing else will come, except for the small piece I've written.  It pains me because I really like the two new characters but something is holding me back, preventing me from telling their story.  I thought I might get to spend some quality time with them on Sunday when I was home alone but once I tinkered with my Christmas tree and a poem, finished a pile of neglected laundry and tidied up, I ran out of steam and out of time.  I'm leaving it up to inspiration now.  I can't have writers block because I've been writing poems like a maniac.  Maybe I was just too please with myself after 'Whistle' and rushed into another idea before it fully formulated.  I rushed into a good thing head first.  No good ever comes of rushing.  I do hope something sparks soon, I really want to share my nwe characters with you.

I polished this puppy off today.  Fussed with it and it's ripe and ready to be sampled:

If You Run Out Of Paper 

if you run out of paper

in the genuine pursuit of truth to

rediscover the beauty of the past

do not despair

it is widely accepted and understood

we often overlook imagined examples

of clarity & brevity for curiosity & inspiration

& how far we can stretch our arms open

to muscle through a path of creative content

if you run out of paper

be at least curious about the moment

you will find the instant suits you

do not protest

art is happiness methodically examined

so great an invention you will never have

to worry if your prose will triumph or your

image rich song is better sung in a folksy drawl

if you run out of paper

be sure to listen for the cheerful melody

that invites you to lose touch with your reservations

write on the walls or write on your hands never be

heartbroken to report you missed a word for lack of 

parchment

if you run out of paper

orchestrate a perilous tango of madness

because obstacles are emphatically verboten

if you run out of paper

you have arrived

**

Of course the premise here is that no matter what, never stop creating.  If you run out of ink, use a crayon.  If you break a pencil, use finger paint.  Just keep going.  And really, if you run out of your creative supplies you must be producing one heck of a piece. That's never wrong.

Think it's time to bundle up and carry myself out for a walk.  Throw in my earbuds and move around a little.  I intended to make today the day I return to the gym.  With daylight savings time, when I'm reading on the commute home I often get lost in my book (in this case my Wallace Stevens poetry volume) and I drove right by.  I promised myself exercise today, I need to get back to good healthy living.  This sitting down and working all day is for the birds, it may be great for writing time which I'd never complain about but my rump is suffering.  I must move.

Happy evening, friendly readers.

In propinquity,

Nic

Indemnify

I had a dream last night that distressed me.  It involved two people I care about deeply and in this dream their intention was to deliberately deceive me, right in front of my eyes.  Because of the sensitive nature of the dream, names and specifics are being withheld but suffice it to say when I woke up I was incredibly angry.  It took a minute to realize it was only a dream, a terrible dream and a massive figment of my over-active imagination at work.  To exorcise it, I wrote a poem.  It’s harsh and blunt but in truth, deceit does indeed delineate us.  I’ve known enough of it to know and have reached my tolerance level, perhaps which is why the dream bothered me so much prompting me to put the drama down on the page.  I confess the faux deception stuck with me for a little bit, took some time to shrug off but after a quick conversation with a close friend, opting to write it out seemed to be the best course of action. 

Indemnify

Consequently

the death of love

is inevitable

the careful detail

of your embellished

monologues

serve as

ample evidence.

Our supreme fusion

was my estate

my indemnity

your penchant for

roving & weakness

for effluence

obliges our

obvious deconstruction.

The revelation

of your leaden character

exhorts my command

to seek compensation

with laborious precision

for incurred hurt

of which you will

extraordinarily deny.

The aforementioned

damages are substantial

souvenirs of your pretense

only noteworthy

to shape your paltry

place in the grand scheme

of things that will no

longer concern you.

Deception defines us all.

**

Anyway, enough of that.  It’s written out.  Done.  Finis!

In other literary news, I started toying with a new short story.  It is tentatively titled, ‘Seated Women’.  As far as I can tell, it’s about friendship, courage and human connection.  It’s been a bit of a rough start but I really like the characters and wish I’d had more time to spend with them over the weekend.  They’re talking up a storm in my head but it isn’t hitting the page nearly as fast.  Unlike ‘Whistle’ which sort of just fell out of me, ‘Seated Women’ will be a long laborious challenge.  I look forward to it though, very much.  I had thought to set myself a deadline but I’m just going to let their story percolate and stream as it comes.  You can’t rush beauty.

I submitted something too for the last issue of Open Heart Forgery for the year.  I can’t wait until the next reading.  I have some poems to articulate.

Happy Spring-day-in-November, a whopping 17 degrees out in the Halifax area today.  No complaints here.

Stay beautiful.

In propinquity,

Nic