She knows a secret. A secret she never told. And it sits in the back of her mind, in the quiet of her dreams, in the still silence of her heart.
She knows a secret. She knows an awful secret. And she never told him, the boy she loved in her own strange way. On the day that the sun slumpt to earth, gasping in the road, and it's fire pulsed it's last and went out; on that day she learnt the terrible secret. On the day that the world paused, reeling in the enormity of the darkness that sank upon it; she felt the secret dig it's cruel talons into her brain, words she could not unhear concealing themselves in the shadows behind her eyes.
She knows a secret. She knows a secret that must be hidden. As tears flowed and flowed and flowed she tried to forget the tragic truth, the scrap of paper curling in the flames. As the earth staggered she tried not to think it. As reality faltered she tried not to know it.
She knows a secret. A secret she never sought to learn. And she wonders sometimes, in moments of solitude and memory as candlelight flickers across her face, whether in an alternate universe time would have eased the divide that grew between her and the boy who must never know the secret? What would be different if she had never known that the men destroyed the paper and hid the secret on the day the sun fell?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Creative process
Ok, so I have talked about my "creative process" before. And you can probably tell from the description that it isn't a very systematic or controlable thing... a significant hurdle to me ever being an actual writer/artist etc because in the grand scheme of things you need to be able to produce worthy work in a timely fashion to be paid in those career paths. Hense why I am a dabbler and heading toward science instead.
Anyways, one of the steps in any creative process is the reworking stage. Most works ever produced were not a "one take" enterprise. There is a tendancy to create, then revisit, and interweave original composition with edits and accents. Especially when you just don't seem to ever be happy with what you have produced. I am not the original never satisfied because DaVinci is, but I could totally be a female model of him... ahahahaha, I am so funny, be quiet!
To the point!
The point is that I have to be in the right mood for the reworking stage. Or maybe mood is the wrong word, perhaps the right mind set is more accurate.
Generally my notebooks (yes, plural) are filled with pages (and scraps of paper) of bits of poems, disconnected lines of poetry that I came up with but have no complementary lines or concepts for, lines I liked when I thought of them, poems that I have written but don't like or don't "feel", poems that don't seem to be finished, or that don't rhyme or poems I started but was interupted or poems with words or lines or entire verses missing. Stray bits of poetry, waiting for a home.
And then very, very rarely, I hit the right feeling and nothing gets in the way and suddenly from my masses of fragments spring poems.
I finished my poem from my Solitude post. Which was just a little something I had been toying with because I was a little frustrated about something and I have been working really hard on assignments and stuff lately and that always seems to go better when I am writing a little meaningless/meaningful but not too intense something. Then I finished two other poems I started a long time ago though I don't know exactly when because I always forget to date my work in my note books (That is part of why I type them up on my computer eventually, so that I have dated files so I can say, oh, I wrote that then). In fact one is the poem I wrote on the page immediately after the page I wrote my rules for myself on - including the rule about dating each page in my book so I knew when things were written. Clearly my rules more like guidelines... Anyway, that was a tangent. THEN while I was on the train going to my class, I finished two more and then I went back to work on this really long epic complicated one that I started about 3 years ago.
Did you follow all that? I go months writing nothing, and months writing worthless scraps, and then somehow I spit out 5 poems in literally 24 hours. And then I got busy, and I don't know if its stopped or just on hold while I am busy, or what will happen next.
On that note, someone linked this and it's a song about the creative process and I think it is brilliant.
Anyways, one of the steps in any creative process is the reworking stage. Most works ever produced were not a "one take" enterprise. There is a tendancy to create, then revisit, and interweave original composition with edits and accents. Especially when you just don't seem to ever be happy with what you have produced. I am not the original never satisfied because DaVinci is, but I could totally be a female model of him... ahahahaha, I am so funny, be quiet!
To the point!
The point is that I have to be in the right mood for the reworking stage. Or maybe mood is the wrong word, perhaps the right mind set is more accurate.
Generally my notebooks (yes, plural) are filled with pages (and scraps of paper) of bits of poems, disconnected lines of poetry that I came up with but have no complementary lines or concepts for, lines I liked when I thought of them, poems that I have written but don't like or don't "feel", poems that don't seem to be finished, or that don't rhyme or poems I started but was interupted or poems with words or lines or entire verses missing. Stray bits of poetry, waiting for a home.
And then very, very rarely, I hit the right feeling and nothing gets in the way and suddenly from my masses of fragments spring poems.
I finished my poem from my Solitude post. Which was just a little something I had been toying with because I was a little frustrated about something and I have been working really hard on assignments and stuff lately and that always seems to go better when I am writing a little meaningless/meaningful but not too intense something. Then I finished two other poems I started a long time ago though I don't know exactly when because I always forget to date my work in my note books (That is part of why I type them up on my computer eventually, so that I have dated files so I can say, oh, I wrote that then). In fact one is the poem I wrote on the page immediately after the page I wrote my rules for myself on - including the rule about dating each page in my book so I knew when things were written. Clearly my rules more like guidelines... Anyway, that was a tangent. THEN while I was on the train going to my class, I finished two more and then I went back to work on this really long epic complicated one that I started about 3 years ago.
Did you follow all that? I go months writing nothing, and months writing worthless scraps, and then somehow I spit out 5 poems in literally 24 hours. And then I got busy, and I don't know if its stopped or just on hold while I am busy, or what will happen next.
On that note, someone linked this and it's a song about the creative process and I think it is brilliant.
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