That phrase on the tip of the tongue,
that distant childhood memory
in dirty dishes,
in a man tying his shoes
Deep in intricate folds
where words go
Saturday, February 25, 2017
At the beginning of 2017, I was really trying to make an effort to get back to my creative writing. I set aside one day each week to devote to that head space – I felt it wouldn’t be as effective to devote say an hour each day and have to switch from a client-writing to a creative-writing mindset. I stuck with it for three months, but like any first of the year, New Year’s Resolution-type promise to yourself, the commitment faded. And, here I am now! Back in that same place! Putting my creative writing cap on again, and trying to shift my brain into that mode of thinking.
In my Creative Habit series, I’ve written about creativity as a muscle – like any muscle, you have to use it or you lose it. When I wrote Where Words Go, I was grappling with pretty typical creative barriers – comparing my current ability to creatively write to the past, judging every “poignant pairing” of words I wrote, and even doubting if I can still call myself a creative writer. Where Words Go felt like the perfect (first ever) poem to share because it pretty accurately reflects where I’m at as a creative writer right now – questioning everything and desperately wanting to dig “deep in intricate folds” to resurrect those words that live in me.