Tag Archives: poetry

Going With the Flow…

 In my everyday life, I must remind myself to go with the flow and to not talk myself out of the adventure.  It is quite difficult to do 52 percent of the time.  I always feel as though I am wandering around in dimly lit forests without markers or roads, finding it hard to trust “the flow” of the thing.  The trees are so tall and closely set that I can hardly see the sun.  And, if I can’t see the sun, I can’t see my way out of the dark.  When I do trust the flow; it is always an amazing journey.  One would think that I would learn by now but I’m human and I like to have plans that work – most of the time – as opposed to having so many “go with the flow” moments. 

In my writing, there is no other way but going with the flow – regardless of the trees or the dark – the voices of the characters do not speak when tampered with and they have their own rhythm…  I have to be open when I write or I’d never be able to write.  Personally, I cannot do the “not writing” thing – must be writing, always writing…  And, I have come to rely on being open to the processes I use for writing my plays and have spent the last decade plus honing that sensitivity. 

With poetry, I have let it come in when and where it can find a space between plays and work mostly for special occasions like birthdays, holidays, and deaths.  For the last few years, I have been working on a book of poems for my mother – gut wrenching stuff to write but she says it’s like I’m her memory.  I did intend for it to be personal to my mother but did not expect it to take so long and be so emptying.  I literally have to take breaks after every few poems.  Because of that, I had started to think that putting a book together unlike just collecting poems was virtually impossible for me.  I have been planning to submit to a certain poetry contest for a few years but every year, the play submission deadlines overlap with the poetry manuscript submission deadline and in the time before and after submission periods, I was always writing another play.  This year, by some miracle, the deadline was extended two weeks.  So, I figured I would go with the flow by trying to submit something.  I started going through my stash of poems looking for a theme that jumped out at me – a daunting process to say the least as some of my best poems were off limits for this project.  I had to find an “in” so I wrote a poem about whatever it wanted to be about, was completely honest – no secret codes.  It went boldly to the scary dark place and said, “Now what?  You game?”  Suddenly, I knew what the theme was and how to pull poems I had already written into the pile, one being “Before the Red” and I knew I was going to have to keep going back to those scary places to write the manuscript right.  But even knowing that, time was running out.  I was going to have to write and rewrite a total of at least 50 poems in less than two weeks now.  It was new to me; I was completely terrified…scared…”afeared”.  I was traveling into scary dark places at a pace I didn’t think I could keep up…  I was writing through the night, writing through my lunch, writing while trying to get dressed for work…just writing and editing like a crazy woman…  Every time I would get overwhelmed and say, “Lord, I can’t do it.  I can’t finish in time.”  He would say to me, “But, what if you can?”  After a while, I found myself echoing, “What if I can?”  It was the million dollar question that I needed to have an answer to.  So, I continued to push hard; not making it when all I need to do is push hard a little bit longer is the worst kind of not making it.  I told myself I would push till the last available minute and just see what happens – just see if I can.  I could and I did.  I uploaded my finished manuscript with fifteen minutes to spare…New York time.

I had gone to the THERE space to the scary dark place and I had written it scared…but I had written it.  The flow of that thing was like being caught in the swell of a wave that refused to break.  I told a friend that I felt as though, I had become myself….nothing broken…nothing lacking…

Now…I am planning to start a new play to submit before March.  I have two weeks off from my day job and I ain’t scared to go wherever…because  I know I can go to the scary dark places…and still go with the flow…

The Thing About Names…

When my mother named me, it was not to match my last name. I was the third child and the second daughter. She said I was red all over when I was born but the next morning when she lifted my shirt to examine me again, only my belly was still red. She thought I looked like a robin red breast – the bird; my last name was pure coincidence. I have read that “the robin symbolizes poetry…and finding the personal song of the soul” (All About Symbols – Andrew T. Cummings) among other things.  I‘ve written poetry since I was eight years old and a few songs sung from the soul have found their way into at least two of my plays – not intentional just something that happened. As I examine my work, I find little pieces of me here and there in some form or another – not always recognizable but there… if only in how I approached the piece and why. As a child, I wanted a different name but a different name would make me a different kind of writer. Of course, I realize now the significance of having the name I was given…

I take great care when giving names to my characters the same way my mother took care to make sure my name fit me. Even WOMAN and MAN are names given with care. Usually, after finding names for my characters, their personalities readily reveal themselves. Often, the name even moves the story. Rarely have I been able to start a piece without naming the characters first. Character names are as important to the piece as the story and taking the time to find the right one always helps me to find my way into their worlds…unless they just want to tell me which has happened a few times. Nothing like driving down the street and having a character just start to talk. If I wasn’t a writer, I would think I was crazy – for sure. None of my plays have written the same way the last one did, possibly because I am never the same when I sit down to write them. Each project is a new adventure, a new opportunity to tell the best story I can and to learn how to tell even better stories in the future. It’s exciting, it’s scary; it’s altogether lovely and well worth the ride… It’s the joy of my life to always be writing…