Sometimes, I do not want to write what I am supposed to be writing. Not for lack of inspiration, or passion, or even words.

I should be doing the final edits on a stack of mostly done poems. There are about 40 in the stack currently, and new poems go into the queue every week, so I really do need to get caught up. Which is what I really should be doing right now. But obviously, I’m not.

For the record, I really enjoy the revision & editing process, hair-pulling though it can be.

I love to see a poem find its full expression. I love to take the raw writing and craft it into a smooth shape, glaze it just so. I love those inevitable moments when the writing circumvents me entirely and at last draws from my keyboard what it was trying to say all along—I love the reminder that sometimes, I just need to get out of the way and let it happen.

But, there are times (like now) that I don’t want to craft anything. I just want to write about a moment.

The return of the barn swallows daubing new mud on the winter wear of their nests, the rise of the creek with its fast waters and river otter undulating along the bank, the delight of reading books of poems and letters by E. Bishop over breakfast.

My tremendous joy at having breakfast and doing this reading cat-like in my favorite chair, moved strategically into the sun in front of the window where I can glance up now and then to watch the creek flow by. How the warm sun somehow fits perfectly with the warmth I’m finding in Bishop’s poems and letters.

These are incredible things. Moments that reveal the perfection of all things. I am endlessly, deeply, grateful for them. And I just wanted to acknowledge the gift that they are, write a little bit, and share them with you.

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Done -All Fixed
Tech Note: the side bar listing ‘poetwitter’ goes to the correct place for poetwist, and the name will get fixed soon. The long boring story has to do with the blog migration to a new server last week, and server file permissions, ftp, zzzzz zzz zz zzz zzzzz zzzz…Thanks for your patience

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I was tagged by the diversely talented Lauri Kubuitsile, at Thoughts from Botswana. It’s called Scrabble Tag and here are the rules:

List at least five things you do to support and spread a love of the written word, then tag five people. (If you list something that touches youngsters, you get a bonus letter!)

O.K. - I’ll give this a try:

1. I buy books. I buy books directly from authors (at readings, or when they are in pre-sales promotion, etc.), and I buy them from bookstores, off websites, and yes from/through Amazon. I buy books because I love them. And I buy books hoping the percentage going to the author helps them keep writing. I buy books because it is a tangible way I can show a writer who I do not know and may never meet that what they do has tremendous value.

2.  I read as many writers blogs as I can keep up with and comment on the work. My hope is that through community building of this kind, we can offer each other support and encouragement. And maybe such support can help keep us writing through the days when we feel like quitting.

3. I support local writing programs by taking classes and actively promoting same to every writer I can find. And I support local arts organizations presenting writers for lecture series by buying tickets and attending the events.

4. I join local arts and writing organizations that provide funding, grants & other resources to writers and artists. When I can, I donate $$ beyond the membership dues to help fund grant programs etc.

5. I am leading a not so secret double-life as ‘poetwist‘ where I toss out single words as prompts for tweets, simply because it is fun and beautiful to write and interact with other writers in this way on twitter. And I’m using my blog to link back to a selection of these twitter micro-writings (periodically) to share this work with a wider/different audience. btw - some darn wonderful writing is happening on twitter, and a lot of word muscle is showing - few things more beautiful to me than that

O.K. who to tag…

Geraldine

texasblu

justpaisely

ms_karen

lissa

Thanks for tagging me Lauri - this was fun to think about!

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Hi all my wonderful weblog friends!

First, if you don’t know what I’m talking about regarding the twitter poetry/writing gig - then check out this post of mine from a couple weeks ago. It’s an invite to a new writing project I kicked off the 1st of this year - details in that post. Now, back to the point of this post.

I’m having a great time with this project. From the feedback I’m getting so are quite a few other folks, which is wonderful. And I’ve received numerous inquires about something that I left out of the original invite to the project.

And I left it out on purpose. Which seems like an odd thing to do so let me explain.

(more…)

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I’ve had an idea for using Twitter to do prompted writing for almost a year, and I’ve finally gotten it together. Many thanks to my friend & colleague JA for kicking my butt on this repeatedly over the last month.

Each day, Monday through Friday, I’m pulling a random word from the dictionary and posting it for writing responses.

You have 140 characters to put together a cogent piece of writing. Any kind of writing is fine of course, it just needs to make some sort of sense.

Working to such a tight character limit encourages every letter, space, and punctuation mark to really matter, to really be essential.

This is an excellent way to build writing muscle, vocabulary, and precise phrasing.

And I am having a heck of a good time with it, I must say.

You can read and participate via the following link. My screen name for this is poetwitter  poetwist and my real name (Kayt Hoch) is in my profile, as is my avatar.

Twitter is easy to sign up for and its free.

I hope to be twittering with you soon !

A couple of tips:

<<>> putting up your avatar or some image is really useful for people who are following you

<<>> the phone setup (if you want to update via your phone) requires your country code (without zeros) in front of your phone number for it to work right

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machine rage - cat#AA868 ………. Copyright 2008 Kayt Hoch - rights reserved.

Unfortunately, the conversion to JPEG isn’t very kind to text and fine detail. So, I’ve created a pdf (using a high resolution TIFF) for those of you interested in looking more closely at the image/details. machine rage pdf

Be real, and don’t steal the image.

I’m easy to work with, just contact me if you want to use or get a print of the image and we’ll work something out. That will be easier than spending your time trying to get rid of the copyright info on the image anyway.

This piece was created in response to the SES prompt linked at the end of the post. turns out, I mis-read the post at SES - no prompt this week -

For those of you interested in some very basic information about how this image was put together, read on.

(more…)

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He heard the breaking glass. Through his haze he imagined a distant crystal chime—delicate ice freed from the eave, imploding on a frozen drift. Somewhere in the chill gray of his mind, he knew better. Knew he was the reason. Knew he could not fix it.

Jill stared at the bathroom mirror and the shards in the sink. She had never done anything like that before. The frustration pouring out of her seemed to have its own volition. To have unleashed the soap bar of its own accord. It scared her. Her palms slippery with fear-sweat she gingerly retrieved the corner of broken mirror from the sink. She was grateful most of the mirror remained in place on the medicine cabinet door.

Jill wanted to be there for him. Wanted him to know that she was ready for “sickness and health”. She offered to read the yellow note card affirmations with him. Asked if he would tell her what was wrong.

But Red had only looked at her. Raised his chin up off his knees to briefly meet her eyes. And a vacant longing seemed to empty out of him filling the entire room. His gaze returned to the floor. He hadn’t shaved or showered in days. He hadn’t spoken a single word since “no” upon her offer to fix him some food the day before.

Hours later he had found her reading in bed and placed a scrap of paper on the nightstand.

Jill had watched him walk away in silence. Her eager hand scooped up the note to find two words. Vanishing point. She had no idea what that was supposed to mean to her.

She returned the rumpled paper to the nightstand.

That strange cipher seemed to trigger her pent up fear. Her wanting. Seemed to rolled it up into a muscle-quaking rage. Something she was quite unaccustomed to.

She decided it was time to sleep. That would clear her mind. Put things right. She would go wash her face, brush her teeth, and go to bed. She just wanted to do normal things. Things that had nothing to do with him. Things she understood. But as soon as the soap was in her hand, she had hurled it at her own reflection. She had no idea why.

Eventually Jill set the soap back on its wooden rack. She wrapped the piece of broken mirror in layer after layer of toilet paper. Carefully placed it in the trash under a pile of used tissues. No need for anyone to get hurt.

She headed off to bed—teeth unbrushed. She could explain the broken glass later. An accident. Things like that happen.

She crawled into the four-poster. Felt the weight of the down. Welcomed a numbing sleep.

She woke late in the morning. Her head beginning to throb in its want of coffee. Jill wondered if she had dreamed the mirror broken. The odd note. But the words were still there on the nightstand. No reason to look in the bathroom. Sliding her feet into her furry brown mocs she realized the shower was running.

As Jill was munching her toast and sipping the rescuing coffee, Red handed her a small drawing. “I’m not much of an artist, but maybe this will help you understand.”

Faint scents of eucalyptus soap and shaving cream drifted over her as she took the small paper from his hands.

Jill made an audible gasp when she looked down at what he had handed her. Whispered “Oh, like a vanishing point…right?”

Red nodded. “It is like I am here” and he pointed to the bottom most rung of the ladder “and I want more than anything to get here” now pointing to the object at the top of the drawing. “That is the moon, and it seems if I could only get there everything would be alright.”

Jill interrupted “But, the ladder doesn’t reach, why isn’t it long enough?”

One tear, quickly wiped dry, escaped Red’s left eye. “I don’t know. I only know that it isn’t. And that you are standing on the moon, calling and calling to me and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to get there, but I can’t. It’s like I’m trapped inside the vanishing point.”

She took his left hand in her right. Cupped his now silky chin in her left. She marveled at how lovely his voice was, how very much she had missed it. Offered him a cup of coffee.

ii

Search Engine Stories - writing prompt: 04 Oct. 08 - ‘moon ladder’

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