Well I did it.
Last Monday, I set myself a goal of getting my novel, Diary of an Angry Woman, out the door by Friday. I’d sat on the finished version for a couple of years, always convinced I could make it better, picking away at final edits that never stopped.
And then I read a stern posting by Robert Sawyer giving his comments on Heinlein’s Rules for writing success. I got there via the poet and novelist Jonathon Ball’s excellent website, which I highly recommend. Both gave me that kick I needed to push my baby out. And so, Friday night, just after midnight, I walked to the mailbox and sent it off to Anansi. I want to work with Melanie Little. She produces wonderful books.
Next up? Poems. It’s time they started leaving the house too. I have sent almost none out for months, concentrating instead on writing, editing, and getting this website going. Good excuses but not. Jonathon Ball says do it all, recommending that we work steadily at each project every day. I’ve decided to start taking his advice.
So I’ll be adding 500 words a day on the new novel to my daily routine and I’m committing to mailing poems out to journals once a week. Hopefully even while I’m at Banff for the Wired Writing Studio in October.
Will I fall down on this schedule, which also has to include my copyediting job? Yes. There will be days I won’t make it, especially given my blinking health. Fear will also get in my way. I know I will sit glaring at the blank page. Or worse, I’ll play Freecell. Check out Facebook. It can take me hours to find my way into working.
But I want to do this. I’ve learned the joy of discipline from writing a poem a day. I can’t tell you what a relief it is, even when I desperately don’t want to do it.
I couldn’t have done any of this a year ago. I was in a much blacker space then. Still dealing with issues from my childhood. But really good therapy (thanks Virginia) and bloody-minded determination has seen me through. I recommend both.
The new space I’m in is the subject of today’s poem. It may well end up as the last one in a book I’m slowly putting together.
First Draft:
On The Other Side Now, Looking Back
Perfect. That’s how the afternoon’s been.
Just the right combination of you,
drizzle from the grey smudged sky,
leaves scuffling underfoot as we walked
from house to house, each one
a painted cocoon, a nest
for the artist inside, most containing
a gem, a spark for the coals burning low
within me. I’m on the other side now,
no longer the one looking out
as others passed by, wondering how
they did it,
not in disasters but on the right side
of benediction living in
the land of no disaster, a hope,
a fairy tale I used
to sing myself to sleep but never
believed. I buy a painting and watch
her face light up and am content.
I stopped and wrote this poem when I was out walking with my husband, going from house to house for CATwalk, the Centretown Art Tour here in Ottawa. It was drizzling all right, so we found a tree and my husband held an umbrella over my head. The words wanted out.
I’d been trying to write this poem for a few weeks but couldn’t figure out how to capture the concept of being on the other side. In the past, I would have identified with the flood victims in Pakistan. I’m not exaggerating. Nor am I minimizing their suffering. My childhood was a train wreck of the sort you read about in newspapers.
But I’m no longer there. Unfortunately though, happiness rarely makes for good literature. It took me a long time to find the language to convey how strange it is to be on the bright side. So when the words came, I listened.
Unfortunately, the ending didn’t show up. Or at least, not one I was happy with. Yes, I’m no longer dirt poor. But that’s not what I wanted this poem to say. I’m not totally pleased with this alternative but after many attempts, it’s what I’ve got for now.
Current Version:
On The Other Side Now, Looking Back
Perfect. That’s how the afternoon’s been.
Just the right combination of you,
leaves scuffling underfoot, and drizzle drifting
from a grey smudged sky as we went
from house to house, each one
a painted cocoon, a nest
for the artist inside, containing
a spark for the coals
in me. I’m on the other side now,
no longer the one looking out, the one living
with ripped nightgown syndrome. I’m on
the right side of benediction living in
the land of no disaster, a hope,
a fairy tale I used
to sing myself to sleep but never
believed. I’m on
the happy side of life wearing
a pretty coat, the girl with the good guy
by her side walking down the paved roads.
This poem was read at the launch of the Barely Their Poetry Obelisk, outside Blink Gallery, Ottawa on Sept 18, 2010. Poet Pearl Pirie and artists Lynda Cronin, Jean Jewer, and Maureen Sandrock created the beautiful pillar.
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