Ok, so I'm sitting here, just finished having a conversation with my boyfriend, being bored, finish the comics I'm reading, try to play some Halo, and suddenly find that the whole time since I hung up the phone that little artist in the back of my brain has been pouring over something it wants to shine and share. Finally the muse hits me. Lucky day in poetryville, right? Nonono.
You see, normally when I write I go from beginning to end and only have to glance back for spelling errors because I edit while I go. This time, the muse is so fixated on the idea we're spinning and polishing that she forgets to tell me I screwed up a line.
All the way back in the second stanza.
I'm on the seventh.
And I can't just finish the poem and come back later, no I have to find someone to help me with this gorram line that refuses to fit. There's a word in it that's absolutely perfect. If I take out that word, I flatten the whole stanza. I've tried just about every literary trick I can think of and nothing will satisfy the little bleeper. She doesn't like the line. She's pissed about it. It doesn't sit well, it doesn't taste right, and it's way too alliterative. The only problem is, nothing else will bloody fit.
So now I'm stuck. I can't watch TV, play videogames, or go to bed because I might lose it. I can't just finish it and come back to the line because for some reason the success of the rest of the poem hinges on getting this one line straight. I can't listen to music, nobody I know in the literary field is online, I can't call anyone because it's bumcrack o'clock in the morning, and the only person I have available to me to ask for advice is a pothead who is way too "occupied" to make a coherent statement.
Worse yet is the expectation I've piled over myself. You see, I'm making this poem for my boyfriend. This raises the importance factor exponentially. Also, the story I'm writing is true, so I have to get it right. The imagery must be accurate or it's meaningless. I'm even losing my ability to make this rant coherent because my brain is focusing more and more of its resources trying to fix that schutta of a line.
Grr... Remind me to take a sledgehammer to the skull of the next person who suggests to me that I become a professional poet.
 AkiaMoirevyn · Sun Mar 30, 2008 @ 10:39am · 0 Comments |
