It’s been a hard day’s night
And I’ve been working like a dog
It’s been a hard day’s night
I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you
I find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright
From “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles
The Grungy Grays sometimes walk through the night, howling in their secret language at the moon. Or they ride on a hodge podge of mountain bikes, road bikes, and falling apart bikes, their graying hair flashing like sparks in the moonlight…
Putting a brave face on is neither good or bad. It helps us get through challenges and feel a bit braver inside. But then what?
I’ve been obsessively writing for a few weeks. I’ve entered a secret world of words that I can get lost in for hours. Picture some kind of matrix scene where probes are attached to my head and I’m twitching and people are shaking me and yelling, “Maery! Maery! Wake up!”
Each night I set my boats to sea and leave them to their bawdy business. Whether they drift off maddened, moon-rinsed, or dock in the morning scuffed and chastened— is simply how it is, and I gather them in. ~ from “Describe Yourself in Three Words or Less” by Rita Dove (this poem and eleven…
My first day of AWP was exhausting! My two morning panels were excellent – one on writing personal essays in the age of the internet and the second on turning adversity into art. After that it was all tripe. My friend and I didn’t stay for the keynote speaker as that event didn’t start until 8:30 PM and ran until 10:00. Who planned this? Are they completely and utterly mad? Do they not know that I go to bed by 9:00?
I write, because I lose myself and the world around me when I don’t. It feels like creation. Like evidence that I’m still here and there is time.
