Still a little groggy (not quite done my first cup of coffee) and trying to think about what to write as well as this overall process (and benefit or not) of writing everyday. I’m not doubting the benefit, but I am wondering if writing for the sake of writing gives me a false sense of accomplishment. While I may not be a fan of tricking my mind in to thinking positively about a work experience or negatively about a past partner, I’m ok with some of the little white lies I tell myself. Creating a to do list that has easy or already accomplished things on it so that I can cross them off and build momentum (wake up, eat breakfast, breath). Ok, I don’t go quite that far. But the writing for the sake of writing…. is it just somethign to check off? Could it be detrimental? What if, instead, I spent more time sitting with the uncomfortable feeling of staring at a blank screen? I mean really sitting with it.
As the preamble suggests, I’m not exactly swimming through deep poetic, eventful, or philosophical waters this morning. I had a much-appreciated uneventful night of sleep. Nick joined me more often than usual. If I woke up at all, I don’t really remember it. I still struggled with going to bed – I’m pretty wide awake until about midnight most days, and last night was a bit of a struggle because I wasn’t in the mood to read and didn’t have anything mindless to occupy my time. I think I overdid it on some of the reading (and general productivity) effort yesterday. I can’t imagine how tiring, and perhaps tedious, I’m going to find the working world. A little before dinner yesterday I sat outside with a beer and the new volume of Hass poems. By the time I was done with dinner, I had also had my fill of reading poetry. I surfed the net looking for possible places to publish and started to feel self-conscious of my work. Two nights ago I was feeling pretty good about it, last night considerably less so. I spent some time making sure I had the latest versions of the poems, and thinking about which ones I’ll submit where. I don’t think the earlier ones are worth much – full of sentimentality and probably better suited for giving to someone rather than for publication. To be fair, that was part of my original intent many months ago. I’ve generally felt that writing as a way to process feelings, while helpful, isn’t usually very good writing. I hold my own work to that same critical lens.
It’s time for a second cup. The sun is shining and it’s cool and nice outside. I think I’ll sit on the balcony and read or write longhand. I would like a more bucolic or inspirational setting. The courtyard below has absolutely no charm.