You gotta know when to hold ’em and know when to fold ’em

16 Jul

As promised this post is about knowing when to give up writing. I guess the title of this post suggests that I do have an idea of when this should be done but to be honest, I have no idea.

I’ve been writing this blog for how long now? almost two years. Fall 2010 begins the journey. Have I always done my posts? No way. Do I often feel like I’m not saying anything? All the time. When I am on, I feel like I am on and when I’m off I feel way off. I think for me, I struggle with agendas. Where do I want this blog to be? What “brand” am I creating with my posts? Does it matter? Do you sometimes write long letters to yourself about where you want to be right now and how off that path you are? I think about doing things like that. But I stop myself. So do I give up my blog becuase I don’t want the pressure of having to give one side of myself all the time or do I expand the blog to accommodate the multiple facets of me? Or do I start a new  blog which is solely focused on the everything else that my life presents.  I love to read all of these beautifully written blogs that focus on one thing but I struggle with how to write one.

My poetry is another story. The energy to write a poem has drained from my heart and I feel like I have forgotten what it means to write poetry. There is a lot of prose here. The desire to write essays, academic papers, plays, movies, and all sorts of words that I would not call poem. But is it a part of poetry to expand beyond genre and write what I need to write.

A part of me thinks that community has a lot to do with the problem. They say 3 in 10 MFA in Creative writing grads keep writing after they finish the degree. I have a feeling this is because they miss the community of writers and being around people who also believe this writing is worth it. This work is so much better than anything else I could be doing. Or at least just as important. That’s how  I feel right about now. I live in a place with little to no literary culture but is on the outskirts of a culture that lives and breaths and grows. Sometimes I think about not writing another poem ever again. But the thought makes me cry.

So I guess that’s where I am. The intersection of perfect balance and disheveled chaos. I’m leaning towards letting the lines bleed. Maybe this thing I’ve been trying to do where I don’t include certain things and I omit isn’t working for me. I omit so much of my life within my life already. What do you think readers: do we give up on keeping our pretty pink bows on or do we just put down our pens and turn off the lights?

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