on being a writer when yr tired & uninspired
thoughts on a 30/30 (pt. 3)
I don’t want to write this. Or, rather, I want to write it, but not right now. I have to write my second-to-last poem of the 30/30 tonight, too, and I don’t wanna do that either. I didn’t get enough sleep last night (because I was up late last night writing today’s poem, amongst other reasons).
“But wait!” you say. “Why are you complaining? No one is making you do either one of those things.” And while it’s true that I technically have the option of flaking on both… There’s no way I’m skipping out on writing a poem tonight, since I only have two more, and I can’t really skip out on this newsletter either, seeing as I skipped it the past two days and I’m still desperately trying to raise money for the fundraiser.
So, I’m going to do it, despite the fact that I am just not feeling it right now. Which leads me into the topic of today’s installment of thoughts on a 30/30…
Some Reasons I’ve Not Felt Like Writing Poems This Month, and Some Ways I’ve Gotten Past Those Feelings and Written Anyway (a List):
I’m having a bad day, or just a sort of ‘meh’ day. You know, the type of day when I’m worried about (lack of) money (capitalism is the enemy of poetry), or one of my kids is struggling with something, or a loved one is dealing with a health issue and I’m worried about that, or I’m dealing with a health issue, or I’m just fucking exhausted, etc. On days like that, I’m either so stressed and depressed that I have a hard time focusing on writing, or it’s just like, well, meh. Like everything is just sort of dull and non-poetic and I am looking for the sublime, man. On those days, I get past it by paying attention to everything. I make copious notes about every tiny thing I noticed, thought, felt, whatever, and then I pick something to write a poem about. This approach has led to me writing about things I wouldn’t otherwise consider “poem material.” For instance: this month, I’ve written a poem where I took the experience of a construction crew digging a big hole in the street in front of my neighbor’s house and turned it into a surreal prose poem (“In Wonderland”), and I’ve written a poem where I compared a tampon to a tea bag (“Similarities”).
My life is super boring, I never do anything interesting anymore, therefore I have nothing to write about. This is adjacent to the above problem, but it’s not identical, and I don’t know how to explain the difference. On those days, even paying attention to all the small things doesn’t help. On those days, I get past it by rereading this passage from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet:
If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place. And even if you were in some prison the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses - would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories? Turn your attention thither. Try to raise the submerged sensations of that ample past; your personality will grow more firm, your solitude will widen and will become a dusky dwelling past which the noise of others goes by far away.
And then I try to ‘raise the submerged sensations of that ample past,’ and write about something that happened back when I led an interesting, inspiring life.
Shut the fuck up, Rilke. Those are the days when I’m like: fine, fine, I do blame myself, you’re right, I’m not poet enough to call forth my life’s riches. Or, more to the point, those are the days when I feel like there are no riches to call forth. Not from my current life or from my past. The days when I ransack the storehouse of my mind to find something, anything worth writing a poem about, and I find nothing. The days when I think: “Nothing that beautiful has ever happened to me. Nothing that sad has ever happened to me. Nothing at all has ever happened to me.” How do I get past that one? I write a persona poem, or a cento. Or, like one poem I wrote this month—“Words Don’t Express My Meaning”—a persona cento.
Why bother? These are the days when I feel like I’m an asshole for mainly writing about like, lurve and shit, because I could instead be writing about something important, like the ongoing genocide in Gaza. Or gun violence. Or fascism. Or or or. These are the days when I feel like, even if I did write about those topics, it wouldn’t make any difference in the world. Not like calling a senator or attending a protest. And this doesn’t mean I don’t ever do those things; what I mean is that on the “Why bother?” days, I feel like spending any time on poetry at all is self-indulgent and privileged. And it’s a vicious cycle, wherein I know I need to write a poem that day, but what to write about? Something overtly political, or something else? And I hear this chorus of voices, half of them saying: “If you’re not writing about something overtly political, you’re ignoring everything that’s going on in the world.” And the other half saying: “If you do write about something that’s going on in the world, but it’s not something that’s directly affecting your life right at this moment, you’re making someone else’s tragedy about you.” So, either way, why bother? On those days, I reread this post I made when I was the Racine Writer-in-Residence. I remind myself that a poem might not ever change the world, but I can tell you about a couple that changed me.
Oh fuck, I can’t write about this topic, what will people think? This particular form of writer’s block happens when the poem that is most calling me to write it that day is about something “risque” or “dark” or what-have-you. I get scared that they won’t even publish it on the website, because it will be deemed overly graphic. (Sounds like a weird fear, right? Yeah, well I’ve had people tell me my writing was graphic even at times when I thought it was fairly tame!) I get scared that, even if they do publish it, I’ll get all kinds of nasty comments from friends and strangers alike. How do I get past this one? I either tell myself: “Anarchy, my friends, that’s the answer. Try saying it with me: fuck ‘em.” Or, if I’m too scared, I chicken out and pick a different topic. Even if it’s not the one I’m most called to write. Look, I’m not proud of the latter option, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
Uhhhh….???? This type of blockage is when I’m just not feeling it, but either not for any of the reasons listed above, or from some combination thereof. And how I get past it is—I just force myself to write. Something, anything. And if all else fails, I make a list (poem.)
I really hope you’ll consider helping me meet my fundraising goal, dear reader. As I mentioned in the first installment of this series, if everyone who subscribes to my newsletter donated just $3, I could meet my goal and then some. But if you’re able to donate more than that—starting at $10, there are some cool incentives. It’s too late to get in on the “help me choose a poem to make a short film from” tier, as there are only two days left. So, I’m changing the incentives a bit. Here’s what they are, now:
For any donation $10-$35, I will send you a postcard featuring an original tanka (written by me) + my original artwork.
For any donation $36-50, you will receive the postcard + I will send you a mini-zine/chapbook featuring a selection of my poems from throughout the month.
For any donation $51 and above, you will receive the postcard, the mini-chap, and you can choose between either having me give feedback on a poem of yours, or writing a poem about a topic of your choice for yourself or a loved one.
Oh, and even though no one has been voting on the poetic short films, I’ve been making them anyway, because I wanted to. You can watch them on YouTube: