My posts have always been sporadic, but as I gaze at my "All Posts" page, I can't help but wonder:
Did I really not write a single post in all of 2021?
But in my heart I know it's true. I didn't even check in apparently for National Poetry Month, NaPoWriMo in 2021...
Yet I did write in 2021. I turned my focus to my long abused novel and started scripting a future Webtoon with a fabulous artist friend. Neither are done. Such is the nature of long term works. And I knew my shorter, more regular publications would take a hit, but the massive gap between "How to Break a Dragon's Heart" which came out in Fudoki Magazine Spring 2021 and now feels... consuming.
I recently quipped on Twitter that since I clearly barely had time to register mentally that it was even April, I probably wouldn't have much time for poetry, for NaMoWriMo either. In truth, I've done very little writing in 2022 at all. I entered NYC Midnight's Short Story Challenge, and made some important scripting progress on the Webtoon, but only what amounts to 2-3 episodes and a decision to completely restructure the plot line, which means there's only more work to come.
I also know that writing furrows are healthy, in the grand scheme, but I miss writing. Specifically writing short works. Churning out something from start to finish, revising and working it into a savory morsel, like a hand made roll. All that intensity and pressure of kneading it just right, then letting it rise.
So here I am.
I know it is ill advised to claim I'll make the 30 poem goal that is NaPoWriMo. I seldom do in less hectic times. And now is hectic. Hectic in a way I don't think anyone knows how to appreciate. This returning to the world, the dust of the Pandemic barely settled against our sheltered skin.
But maybe it's because I placed 3rd in NYC Short Story and am moving on to round two of the competition, proud to be among just shy of 1200 writers from the original crop of over 6,000.
Or maybe it's because I've been listening to the Neil Gaiman Reader on Audible to fill little gaps in time. Reading always inspires writing for me. I can feel the rhythm of his voice pressing against my sentences even now, and I finally understand why everyone always expected me to be a Neil Gaiman reader myself, though I've only just begun. The strangeness of his plots and pacing, and the way he can make the most interesting thing in a city full of shinning angels be a whisper in an empty room -- it stays with you.
Or maybe it's because as I'm writing this, I'm also remembering the importance of making room for art. Letting it sprout out of the concrete cracks of a heavy schedule. And all the benefits therein that I blogged about so many years ago.
Maybe it is simply time to take up the proverbial pen, and write again.
So I will be joining y'all for NaPoWriMo. And as always, it is unlikely I'll reach the goal of 30 poems, especially starting eight days in.
But Spring is here, and it's time for things to blossom.
Comments
Post a Comment