so, you want to be a writer

i am keenly aware that many times when i sit down to blog, that i really don’t know where the blog will take me. but i am so committed to writing every day, grinding out 300, 400 even 500 or more words at a time, that i almost don’t care what i write. i just need to write.

in church today, during fellowship, i had a most unusual experience: for the first time i admitted that i was a poet. the reaction i got from one sister was to invite me to participate in a women’s day program that’s coming up next month. that would be cool, except for the fact that i believe it was a knee-jerk reaction to my naming myself a poet. it even sounded funny coming out of my mouth. i was talking about my upcoming trip to Sharpsburg and i briefly explained that i’m pursuing a career as a writer and that’s when i said, “well, you know, I’m a poet”.

it just popped out

the other reaction wasn’t so exciting. i shared with another sister that i was a writer and she immediately changed the subject to talking about one of her kids. that’s okay, because i’m gonna write anyway, whether or not you understand it, like it, appreciate it, or see it as sinful and sending me to the 7th level of hell. I’m a writer and i’m going to write.

in my head is a buzz that i need to write poetry.

so i have spent the rest of the day waiting for a poem to find me. none have been see hanging out around me lately. i tell myself not to panic, that i will luck upon one any minute now and that i should remain calm. but it’s a new day and i still haven’t written a poem this month. Nothing. Nada. guess i better pack my bags and go on Poetry Safari. hunt the big game, the found poems that lie about on the jungle floor.

and i’m troubled by the e-mail from one of my writing workshop coaches. she speaks of something she calls “critical mass”.  i am suspicious that she didn’t have enough people in the class and thus decided to “reconstruct” the class so that it doesn’t even look at all like the writing workshop i graduated from. this, after all, is the workshop where i learned how to focus my thoughts on writing, get centered and speak my truth.

but i will have to wait now until November. i can’t afford the $300 tuition price tag; but this is a marketing problem, not a creative problem, and any entity or organization that intends to survive in this day’s economy must put itself out there. simply put, she didn’t market the workshop well and thus she has no new pool of writers from which to pull from.

after all, let’s face it. writers, poets in particular, are not the celebrities that they are in other countries. writing, as a profession is one of the lowest paying  jobs on the planet. by wanting to be a writer you are wanting to always be poor. i sometimes wonder what in the world in on my mind as a passionately pursue this dream. am i falling for the notion that somehow everything is going to work out just for me? what makes me so special as a writer?

i ponder the timeless question from another perspective: why do you write IF it is not a means to an end of making a living?

Word Count: 601  😀