I'm more than a week into the 30/30 Project, writing a poem a day for the month of January. There have been moments as thrilling as any I've experienced as a writer -- lines forming themselves as if of their own volition, ideas fusing with music. There have been moments of sheer panic as well as hours pass without a thread to follow through the maze of poem drafts. I've taken liberties with Lorca, given a nod to dear friends, bestowed a voice upon a poison mushroom, invented new lives and written my own.
If you've been one of my kind readers, following my daily progress, please consider donating a dollar or two to Tupelo Press so they can continue to promote all their wonderful poets and projects. You can find information on how to donate at the 30/30 page. View it as a trade. Here's a list of what I'll be exchanging for donations.
$1+ -- A letter or postcard
$10 -- A handwritten poem
$20 -- A poem on a prompt of your choosing
$35 -- A limited letter-press print of my poem Cicada by the artist Marie Kinscher (see above)
$100 -- A private reading
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Thursday, January 1, 2015
|Artist: Marie Kinscher|
Tupelo Press' 30/30 project means cranking out a poem every day, for public viewing nonetheless. That's daunting. My typical process involves the slow accretion of lines and ideas and drafts over weeks, sometimes months. 30/30 gives me no time to perfect and hone and second guess. It's good and terrifying too. I spent the morning pushing words around the page. Nothing. I tried one poem, then another, then another. The thought came that I might not be up for this.
Then I took a walk and looked at the cracked glaze of ice on Horseshoe Lake like so much candy or stained glass in the sunlight. And I remembered that life doesn't take place inside my head (and what is true of life is often true of writing and vice versa). I walked with dust kicking along Shady Beach Road beneath the bluest sky and the first lines of the day's poem came to me.