Experimenting With Novellettes

Recently I ordered some experimental novels I found in articles online. I believe I wrote awhile back about dabbling in fiction.

I dropped that for awhile. Now I am back. In desperate need of a sense of structure, I wanted new novels to read. However, I don’t want to write a regular sort of novel. As a poem writer, I want to break things down. I also want a shorter story. Can a story with no plot be good? Can the color orange be my protagonist? Can I structure my book as a series of ekphrastic poems? What does it mean to structure a story as a scrapbook? Can I include footnotes, to-do notes, and playlists?

I want to find out. I have a lot to learn. I am a voracious reader, but this is stuff I haven’t really touched. It is time to leave the familiar terrains of my mind and map a new world.

Eating Men

My sheath is made of leather.
I am a woman.
I am a knife.

Tonight I will dine
on an industrial
Dynasty,
eating in the workspace
of men –
Eating men.

Iron rising from my pulse
To the air
I see my doppelganger –
The pregnant cat
Luring the mouse.

This is part of my project to write poems that pair with colors and textures, or the other way around.

Shy, Parsnip, Mother’s Day

I feel so private, so shy. Earlier in the week I submitted to two magazines. I hadn’t done that in a long time. There is a poet group I want to join, but I can’t even fill out the paperwork. Putting myself out there feels exhausting and violating – especially because they talk about giving readings and things like that. I have never been an extravert. In fact, I have been very introverted my whole life. The older I get, the worse it gets. There is a group of horror writers I want to get plugged into. I am excited about it, as I really love reading horror, have supernatural experiences at home, and I want to write fiction.

The thought of going to a meeting sucks my spine out of me.

Forcing myself to go would be good for me. I would love to find inspiration and meet like minded people. Being there would probably be spectacular. The thought of going gives me butterflies. Not even butterflies. It gives me moths.

Parsnip has a new enclosure that Craig built for him. It is in the library, which gives him more sun than he got in the laundry room. There are plenty of pros and cons for parsnip. He is now enclosed in a much smaller space. It’s more fun and definitely cozier, but it’s smaller. When he was in the laundry room he got to go out and run around the house a lot more. He was shut into the laundry room while we were sleeping or when I had to go to a store, but he spent a lot of hours a day running around the house. Now he doesn’t. This us partially to minimize possible future damage to the house. My little bunny has already caused trouble. Part of it is because this new enclosure doesn’t have a way to open the gate. He has to be put into his enclosure from the top. So if we let him out to run around the house and we aren’t available to really really watch him and follow him he could run into trouble. If he needs to eat, drink, or use his litter box he can’t get to it. So he can only come out of the enclosure at certain times. It was possible to make an enclosure that would allow him to get into it, but then it wouldn’t be secure enough to keep him from getting out of it. Parsnip is a fuzzy genius. Craig actually stapled the walls of the pen to the plywood.

We took Angelica out front on her skates. She doesn’t yet know how to skate per se, but she walked in the skates. Her balance was amazing – especially considering we haven’t been teaching her. We need to take her to a rink.

Mother’s Day was lovely. Good food, good gifts, good time. My daughter picked out a pretty watch for me. Craig got me two pieces of art from a local gallery, and another gift that I am not sure where he got it. We grabbed lunch at that cute little French place. I feel cherished

Reinvigorating my Creative Life

I have returned to writing in the past few weeks, and I have tons of poems to post as we start 2019. My painting has been full of experimenting.

To jumpstart my creativity, part of what I am using to keep myself inspired is the planner I wrote about before that was custom designed for me. Seeing everything written out that I should do each day, from reading to writing to learning, helps give me that accountability. I write for the love of it and because I have images in my head that just must come out. But the reality is I frequently don’t feel good and doing anything can be difficult. This week in particular has been hard. But I am creating.

I have used the times Angelica has been getting tutoring to read, write, and blog. She gets tutoring for an hour at a time and rather than just sit there, I get stuff done. The new environment is actually stimulating.

I may start doing digital poetry, in this case meaning poetry on images, and I definitely want to start using dyed and cut up words in my paintings.

Collages are in the cards. I also want to do still life photography around the house with journals, art supplies, salt, flowers, bibles, etc.

I have a few little plans in the works and I am looking for more. I want to be as creative as possible this winter

My Mode of Living

I’m free of rain.

I show my picture to the blank mirror.

I was not busy in my shiny days

and now I see

clouds of apologies ahead,

burning bronze.

 

My shape shifting selfishness

Folded into a skin box,

Origami.

 

My life was born for a while,

between sameness and joy.

 

Ten times I memorize myself,

candy candle

I have to light,

To guide kaleidoscope perception

Back home to me.

 

Interdependence is difficult and soft,

ad infinitum.

Realization

Yesterday in the car I came to a realization, one it has taken me years to come to. If I could trade my creativity, ie my poetry writing, to not have Bipolar anymore I would. I’ve never been willing to say that until now. I’ve always thought that the writing came first. But a few things have¬† changed since then. First, I hope I’ve gotten at least marginally wiser with all the getting older I’ve been doing. I can recognize the value in a normal, stable life. Even if I couldn’t write anymore, I could still love books by spending that many more hours reading them.¬† I could still blog if I wanted. Basically, as much as I would miss writing poetry and having all the ideas and images floating through my mind, if I could be a balanced, stable person and a normal wife and mother, I would take that opportunity in a New York minute.

I think too that the past few months have helped to bring me to that mindset. Although I’ve been experiencing mood swings more and more frequently lately, the meds I’m currently on have given me way more stability and normalcy than I have had since i was a teenager. Having gotten a taste of what that feels like, I don’t want to give it up. Having seen how much more I can do for my family when I’m like that, I don’t want to lose it.

Of course, this is all wishful, hypothetical thinking. This is not how life works. There may not even be a choice, because although there are heavy links between creativity and Bipolar, and particularly between Bipolar and poetry, it is possible I’d be a poet either way. I’d say not likely, but it is possible. Wouldn’t that be amazing though! The best of both worlds! But more to the point, I doubt God will come from his heavenly throne to offer me a choice no one else gets. I will never be presented with the opportunity to say take this cross I bear and give me normalcy. It is a sacrifice I would make, but I’ll never get to make it. I will never be normal. But at least if it is God’s will, I will always have poetry.

The very fact I would make that choice, however, shows a shift in my mindset. I want a happy life. I want to be a good wife and mother. I am so passionate about poetry and there is nothing I love to do more than to write it. I am not even sure how I could be quite the same person without it. It is hard to imagine that life. But if I could be a better wife and mother, if I could travel the whole world (which is a nightmare for me now as a Bipolar), if I wouldn’t miss hours that turn into days of my life dealing with bad medication side effects, if I could see my friends without worrying that my mental stability might wane before we are done hanging out…….I wouldn’t pass that up.

Since I don’t have that choice, I am going to try to make the most of the poetry that has been put in me. But I long for a day where I could put down my pen and find a blissful equilibrium.

Marriage

My silence is a blue tapestry
hanging by the old runny window.
Beneath my tongue the dream
dissolves, disheveled, voiceless.

Where his feet go,
my soul follows,
swimming through the cerulean sea,
stalking through the scorching sands,
clattering through canals.

His feet make tracks on the moon,
his ambition a horse for me to ride
to some frosted paradise.

In my tapestry,
the design of a snowflake,
sublime and thick.

Weightless

My Mondays are cocooned,
my years a chrysalis from which
only my age emerges.
Safe in my silverlit silk, I am
an unsung liquor,
and unbefriended possibility.
Failure cannot gnaw my alabaster soul.
In my serene rooms,
I float weightless,
worry bought and sold by someone else.

My Poetry Journal

The book I am currently writing my poetry in. I have written about 70 poems inside. I like filling books with creative writing. It is a way to measure the productivity of my creative life. Selecting beautiful journals makes my soul sing and my mind tingle, so it is also fun to amass gorgeous journals. I actually have several journals already and I use most of them for daily logs and Diaries. This is the first time in a long time that I have been handwriting my poetry. It seems to affect my mind differently than typing my poems. Typing poems is great because you can do it on the go. Where ever you have your phone you’re all set. For several years now I have typed all of my poetry on my phone. I seldom work on the computer. What I need to start doing is bringing my poetry book with me in my knapsack purse so that I can write hand written poetry on the go as well.

As the book starts filling up my husband types up my poems for me. Then I begin to revise them and post them. Then I do Some experiments with them.