10 minutes-''we write because we must''
I wonder, do I have this imperative to write. I joined a writing group and wrote 2 short stories a month, but left the group because it did not give the kind of feedback I wanted. There was a man there who thought he was funny, and always made some kind of joke at the end of my reading.
Someone else said my story about a dream did not make sense..I pointed out that it was a story.
Since leaving the group I have not written 2 stories a month.
I joined this 31 day challenge to encourage myself to write daily and this is day 2 and am still playing.
Just remembered, I have joined in with a couple of FB stroy prompts and wrote for 5 minutes each time, and also joined in their story competition.
But the craving for some kind of feedback, preferably postivie, demonstrates that I am not writing for me.
A story motif is in the ethers around my head, but have done nothing with it, and had an idea a few seconds ago that maybe each idea could be a poem in its own right, with actually no need for it to be a story, a novel , a book.
I have also run a writing group for 5 years- we meet monthly in the library and write in short bursts for 10/15/15 minutes then read out to each other.
Sometimes one of the members is negative and I often consider leaving them to run themselves, yet each month I return....
I went to a one hour workshop on Saturday, and made 2 little books- it was such fun to make, and so rewarding, and now, as I type, I realise I can write poetry in them..or even a word per page.
And I will have a go at making this too
I do enjoy words, single words or small groups- or just a sentence.
I took part in an international art card swap in the summer and joined again...I made 54 cards, and each painted card had a single word on it...did it show me my favourite 52 words ( SOFT showed up twice )
I will post them soon and in return will receive 52 cards (52 arty words) from other people from around the world.
So- I have typed for 10 minutes and noticed I feel soothed by the process...not that I was stressed before- just noticing a change in my energy.
And now to the poem.
At 1st I did not want to write shape poetry, but soon changed my point of view and decided to give it a go,,,,chose a Luna shape.
Pearls around my neck feel warm to the touch.
To own a pearl necklace I have wanted so much.
It seemed out of reach-pearls are not for me
Daughter of a grocer- so how could it be?
What do pearls mean- elegance and grace, how do they feel so close to my face?
At last they are mine, tinged with pink...like the colour of dawn not captured by ink
but by the secrets inside the shell, who can tell?
Are moonbeams collected deep inside,
To realise the pearl within them and within me?