POETS THOUGHTS

I am not one of those writers who can simply continue to write on a schedule when big things are happening--like the holiday season. I grab snatches of time when I can, write a few pages on my latest book, keep up with correspondance (cards, letters, emails), but I don't seem to be able to create new articles, essays, stories--until the busyness settles down. This year, however, something grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

A very knowledgable writer/poet friend, Patricia Spork, gave me an answer for what was spewing out of my pen and pencil--not into the computer. She proposed that something wild and wonderful was going on inside this B-B (not her words, but mine) brain. I was creating pages and pages of what she called "Poets Thoughts." Whatever these short pieces of free verse are, they intrigue me.

I don't know where they come from. I don't know where they are going although Patricia says I should publish a pamphlette of them--to go along with those other pamphlettes that are selling like hot cakes (that's tongue in cheek, folks). Anyway, my thought about these are this: somewhere, sometime I will use them. I, and I urge you to heed my message here, will not throw them out as utter foolishness. I always tell my students you never know when you will want just that very note, paragraph, story or whatever you have thrown away.

Here's a few I'll share.

Early in the morning
Women of the night
Scurry past women
rushing to proper jobs,
Never giving each other
a glance,
an acknowledgment
of how alike they really are.


Drink deep with joy
Breathe the fragrance each day.
Drain the cup.
Leave no doubts or dreams
in the bottom.


Misued.
Abandoned.
Well-traded.
Property.
Haunted.
No lifeline.
Woman.

So, what do you think they are?

HAPPY NEW DAYS COMING UP FOR ALL OF YOU.

NOTEBOOKS AND A PETUNIA

All of the years I have been teaching creative writing, I have urged others to always carry a notebook of some kind/size with them wherever they go. I do follow what I preach on this one, folks, because if I didn't have that notebook, I would lose more ideas than I can count.

One winter I had a long bout with the flu--very unusual for me as I am seldom ill, usually bounce back in a few days when I am, or never give in to it if possible. But that year I was down and out for a week or more. During one of the long naps I took, I dreamed an entire story. I was too sick to reach for that bedside notebook. Later, I couldn't remember a word about that story. I lost the entire play and characters.

I thought I had it all covered with those notebooks in every purse, each room, many nooks and crannies. I hadn't counted on illness. But I am sure I won't fall victim to this when I am well. That's the reason for all the notebooks, many of which turn into journals that I have stacks of. And I have used many of them to activate my muse successfully.

Several of my online/snail-mail writer-friends and I have been exchanging gifts at Christmas time for two years. We all know each one wants writing materials--pens, sticky note pads, notebooks, journals--and we supply that. But we also let the gal who picks our name know our other interests--music, authors, or a collection we have.

I don't collect much except stacks of books but I have this one small collection I really like--pigs. Maybe it goes back to my childhood when daddy raised pigs and I made the mistake of making a pet of the last one. Maybe I collect them, thinking I am saving them from a sad demise or something. Anyway, that's my collection.

Wendy, a sweet writer and great critiquer from New York state, was my elfin pal this year. She sent me the neatest pens, a lovely purple (my favorite color-how did she know?), thin Moleskin notebooks to put in pocket or purse for all those ideas and--Petunia. Wendy told me later that she found Petunia on a back shelf in a little country store and asked her if she wanted to go to a new home in California. Thank goodness Petunia said yes because she is the sweetest little pinkish-colored pig in my collection.

I think Petunia has magic powers. I imagine she can control my muse. She sits near my computer and, after a too busy month or two, she seems to have spurred me to write. And she does like to snuggle down on one of those Moleskin notebooks, Wendy--do you know if those covers are made of. . .no, that would be too weird.

Use those notebooks. Hold those dreams, musings, thoughts. Use a song that reminds you of a special event in your life. What about those pictures that bring back memories of a once-upon-a-time romance? Use whatever it takes to keep ideas fresh--even a tiny, pink pig named Petunia.

OUR PLEASURES

Wouldn't it be nice to set aside a day for our own pleasure? Whether that means a day to write, a day to read, or a day to do nothing, there should be a time for us to do only what we want to do.

I find that those days have become fewer and I sorely miss them. Once upon a time I often set "a day for me" aside; I got up in the morning to head off in a direction I would have thoughtfully planned in advance. Or, every now and then, I would see or heard or read something that encouraged me to change course.

One such day while living in Bakersfield (CA), I was head out for a day at the library-doing some research, writing and then treating myself to lunch. As I crossed a bridge over the Kern River, I glanced at the park--children were splashing in the water and their laughter floated up to me. I turned the car onto the next street, entered the park, found a picnic table and for several hours soaked up not only the sun but the music of that laughter. From time to time I'd make notes, jot down lines to later work into a poem, and other moments I merely closed my eyes and listened.

In this busy season, take some time off for yourself. Banish those old lessons learned of always being productive. Soft, dreamy or daring pleasures are good for the soul. Relax. Take care of yourself. Refresh your spirit. You will find by doing this whenever possible, that you will carry on remarkably well when faced with those times in life that you are not handed what you expected or wanted.

Pleasure yourself today for acceptance tomorrow.

ALOUD

As you all know by now, I am in several critique groups. It used to be three but I have worked myself into that preverbial corner again and have no time to write as much as I should. I dropped out of the snail-mail one, although I did ask (and she said yes!) one of the members if we might continue--on a non-schedule/deadline type of critiquing.

I have been working on a romantic suspense for ages. It has been one of those on-again, off-again affairs--I started with a bang, then got stuck, started up again with enthusiasm and now, with the holiday mad rush, have slowed down to a crawl again. Besides omething isn't right with this books's progress.

Several writers have reminded me to practice what I preach--read the work aloud. I have proven it to myself in past pieces of my work but I must admit I haven't tried it when writing a book. Having said that, I am beginning to pull out of the stall by reading my chapters aloud. It's true--I hear a lot of mistakes as I stumble over them.

Some of the critiquers of the beginning chapers of this book have told me my point of view is all out of whack. I have never had that problem with books before but most of them were written in first person. I'm attempting to correct that now but, even with reading aloud, I find myself going back to defending some of my work.

This is a romance which is a formula write. There are two people, distrustful of each other, who will become lovers, caught up in a mystery. They both have speaking parts and internal thoughts in the chapters I have created. I've tried putting each chapter in a different voice--and find, even listening to myself read, this really slows down the story.

I go back and read aloud my latest first-person point of view novel and find it flows much better. The ones who have critiqued this have no problem with the voice of Mary Margaret Butler. When I read it aloud to the walls of my office (that, by the way, remain so silent they could agree or not for all I know), I find myself returning to my East Texas roots, accent and all. Maybe that is what is lacking in my new romanctic suspense--the voices don't sound "real" when read aloud.

I am stubborn. I want this story told in third person to work. I will keep writing and reading aloud until I get this right. I know this is an excellent way to do that--reading aloud in order to catch the wrong tenses, omissions, run-on sentences, syntax, and a multitude of other sins, among them the believability of my story-telling people.

If you're having trouble with your writing, read it aloud. If your writing group finds your writing lacking, make the acceptable suggested changes and read it aloud again.

Once I was in a group that exchanged their work to read aloud, and I hated it. No one could put the emphasis on the right words of my work--or anyone elses. How can another reader know what is the right voice to use in reading? Did I learn to like the process? No, but I certainly learned a lot. If you listen to someone else read your work and listen closely, you will hear all the problems--and it might not be pretty.

But all mistakes can be corrected. All of our work can benefit from reading it aloud. Let's all try to do this.