Why poetry, why
Why did I start writing poetry? A choice I made when I was just a young thing, and never questioned afterwards. Until today.
I was reading this article by Doc on common writer mistakes (like spending time sharing self deprecating memes instead of actually writing), and then my cat sighed when I was somewhere mid way through it. As my focus was pulled out of the article and back into the practical reality, it lead me to a realisation. Something that I should have known about myself, but in a stupid meta way I didn't because that's the whole point of it.
Do you know why I started writing poetry as a teenager?
Because I didn't know how to talk about the stuff that was happening inside me. I don't even want to use the word "feelings" as it wasn't just that. I didn't know how to talk about the things I was *thinking*, let alone feeling.
I was born and grew up in a complicated place during complicated times. Not saying things was a common survival technique. Politically and socially.
But as a new human being on this planet, I had to cope somehow. Even more - I had to figure shit out. So, I read. I read a lot. I read books given to me, books I found, books that were being hid from me. Anything with words in it (which includes a book on preserving fruit, and let me tell you, it was a bit of a downer as far as expectations about cool stories with cherries go).
I tried writing my own stories. But I wasn't ready for that yet.
So, I kept reading and it worked. I was starting to see and realise that human non-tangible inside stuff. But the more I read, the more I felt the need to also get to know my own self. Who am I? What kind of a person am I? What do I like?
Amongst the books I had devoured were also plays and poetry collections. For some reason I decided to try and write a line. Followed by a different line, not necessarily logically and chronologically related to the first one.
Before I knew it, I was buying more and more notebooks. Turns out that there was (and still is) a lot to process in lines, verses, and free form formatting or all those words. Not explaining myself, but sorting my more elusive shit in a way it makes sense to me.
Not having to coherently and logically explain and prove my arguments stated was the relief I found in writing poetry.
All the things I never learnt to talk about, all the observations about the world that I don't know how to voice, secret thoughts, unexpected feelings, reasons for my anger, all of that goes in the poems that I can't stop writing.
And as far stories go, I'm learning to write those, too.
Two book summary in one
It suddenly struck me that the shortest possible summary of both of my books would be:
“People make no sense to me, but I tried to get along, then I gave up, also angry.”
Chronologically speaking: Book1 being the trying to get along, then Book2 - giving up, also angry.
Out of control by flesh prison
One of the things that make my voice recordings hard work, is me tensing my shoulders and kind of pulling them up. This is making my voice sound not good.
I really need to get back to practicing yoga on regular basis. That stuff really helps with having more control over my own body movements outside of the practice as well.
Ah, what we do for art
For "research purposes" and "to practice rhythm", I find myself watching Aesop Rock live performances.
(Yes, me and my designer are working on something tremendously exciting. We love this new hobby.)
Time for Marlowe (and I mean L'Orange & Solemn Brigham duo) videos now.
I can assure you, this is all in the name of science.
Micro fiction based on tonights movie
Police officer: Miss, why are you walking?
Me: Oh, I don't have a driver's license.
Police officer: Miss, _why_ are you walking??
Me: Don't worry about it. I can't drive and my boyfriend says he won't drive me around any more because I'm too fat and I need the exercise.
Police officer: Who is your boyfriend, miss?
Me: Ah. His name is, err, Ricky. He's white. Err. And he's the pillar of our community.
Police officer: Sorry for troubling you, have a nice day.
Too many hobbies
Since the little show I did, quite a few things have happened in my life. One of them is being busy with Pangea Press editing. Because of that I find myself having less time for my other hobbies. So, I prioritise.
I don't plan, I manage priorities.
As far as my hobbies go, I tend to get on with the ones I feel like doing at that particular time.
I have written one and a half new poetry books (known as Book3 and Book4), but when I sit down with my coffee on a Saturday morning, I find myself opening audio recording editing tools. Instead of the writing ones.
Which can only mean that the podcast episode 5 is progressing, but the books stay as they are for now. And that is not a bad thing. I am also in talks with some music performers about some of the spoken poems. My designer whom you all know and love, has also been tinkering with sound production, instead of the Book3 website. Which I also find to be very exciting at this point.
I know that I will pick up the books again, they will see the light, and maybe even some reader's faces. But as it stands now, here on the 14th of February, I seem to be more enthusiastic about spoken word poetry. And making real life appearances at local events.
It thrills me to find new ways to be a poet. Taking my own advice and being brave.
Oh ok, sure
I've been writing a lot of new poems lately. Just that when I look at all these things I've written, I feel like a total psychopath. I mean, I am aware of my ability to rationalise and overrationalise all that can be called emotional or human. But all of this...
I guess Book4 is going to be a bit of hot and cold, and even colder. If I ever brave finishing it, that is. All things considered.
We'll see.
Either way, I also did some work on the next podcast episode. And that's almost human! :D
New year, new poems
I might have mentioned that Decembers tend to be a bit harder on me mentally. I don't even fully understand why. There's always the feeling of rushing to finish things, combined with all the spam inviting me to shop, and my natural state of not really wanting to do what I am told to do. So, all in all, Decembers usually tend to be a bit less productive, and a bit too weird for me.
But today is January, and I have already written quite a few new poems! Woo to me.
And it reminds me, how being somewhere in the late stages of finishing a book (in this case Book3, but it also had happened with Book2 as well), I decide to Not do another one. No more, enough, all those determined to stop words. And then I obviously find myself just writing, writing, writing more, and knowing that there will be another book. There's a theme, working title and everything (this calls for a 'lol' at the end :D).
I'm doomed :D
Be brave and have fun, folks.
P.S. I've recorded a new podcast ep. It just needs editing, but I got myself a new software to edit it in, so it might take a while as I need to learn the soft as I go :D
Guess what I've been doing
Same ol' same ol'
I'm slowly bit by bit editing the newest podcast episode that I have recorded off the material in my An Evening With show the other week.
I find that the hardest thing in all this is that I've heard myself tell this story way too many times. I mean, it's not one of those I break out down at the pub, no. But I rehearsed a lot of it for the show. And during the audio recording edits, I get to listen to it piece by piece again and again.
I have to keep reminding myself that the potential audience has not heard it (more than once at least).
I often wonder, do other authors or performers also feel like that? That they've worked on something so intensely, they're a bit bored of it by the time it's almost ready to be presented to the actual public?
That writing every day thing
For a couple of weeks now I have been experimenting with the concept of writing something each and every day. so far so good.
Mind you, I am very generous with what counts as "writing". Because I want it to feel good about it all.
So, every evening at some point, I'd recall what was the particular thing I did on this day. I think I want to keep track of these and I'll try to remember to note these in the comments.
I'll start with yesterday's writing: it was a piece I wrote for my friend who was stuck and needed help.
Book3 tracking
[Original post date 09/Oct/2023]
This is a post I'm going to keep updated in the comments over time. Because I seem to have more and more and even more ideas about the upcoming Book3 all the time, and I feel like keeping a changelog with all the stuff.
According to my blog, this entry on August the 19th is the last one that mentions this Book3.
Since then me and my designer have come up with even more ideas for its website's look and feel. The majority of work on it has been done, just the audio player is still outstanding.
I have finalised all the poems that will be on the web and in the print version. I have also written a few little things that go with the poems. There are also some spoken ones recorded already, but more to be recorded soon.
All seemed well and coming together nicely, for it to be out soon enough.
And then yesterday I had this brilliant idea that maybe, just maybe I could write little stories and comments about / for the poems in the print version as well. **sigh** I consulted my designer and he said it's a great idea! (Despite my best efforts to undersell it.) We talked about it a bit more and as a result, Book3 is back to unfinished state.
Head fillings
I wonder... Writers tend to have lots of people, characters, places, spaces, and maybe even whole worlds living in our heads. Is it so, that they live there rent free, until we write them down in a book and that gets sold. And then they start paying for the room they take up, yes?
I did say I don't like Fridays!
Email exchange. (Note there are at least 20 mins between each message.)
K: [..] talking of artists, I really should rest for a bit, calm down my head, and do some writing. In the lines of at least trying to write every day.
Neighbour: How is that going?
K: I have regained some sort of thought process in my head, but still feeling tired. Maybe I should postpone writing to tomorrow. But then, so much for that every day writing thing, eh
Neighbour: Maybe you could post on Bluesky or on your blog. That could count as writing! :D
K: I posted quite a few pics on instagram and Bsky. Still no brain for blogging :D
Neighbour: I think if a picture is worth a thousand words, you've written lots today!
K: There were a few actual letters and words as well :D
Neighbour: So, a couple thousand words and then some :D
Reminding myself of the why
I know what I _should_ be focusing on. For example, finishing the neverending Book3. Recording spoken versions of poems in Book3. Marketing the thing to create the pre-launch hype.
As much as I really love my Book3, I am also flooded with tons of new ideas. For example, writing a poem as a play. Or throwing the idea of An Evening With yours truly to the Pangea founder, who then takes it unexpectedly seriously, and now I have to actually start putting the show together.
As I am feeling like I'm driving myself into overwhelm yet again, I picked up my copy of Bill Bailey's Remarkable Guide to Happiness and read a few chapters. The fact that these happened to be the last chapters of the book, is a little heart breaking, but I know I will be reading it again from the start.
And I contemplate what I just read with all them things I am doing and why, and maybe, just maybe it will turn to be great fun after all. Because that's why I do it to begin with.
