You never know where inspiration will strike and sometimes
it doesn’t strike and you
must write, anyway with all the enthusiasm of a
slightly hung over snail.
Tonight it was the instant I discovered a young poet named Leigh Stein who has the nerve to have been born the same year I graduated from college. This is impossible.
She should still be in diapers or preschool at the latest.
Somehow I forget that my eldest daughter is studying at the University of Edinburgh and if my firstborn had lived, she would be nearly twenty-three.
Tonight the poetic siren stirred in coming to terms with this young woman who made me blink myself awake to the reality of my age vis a vis her age and I simply had to write a poem in response.
This is what I wrote, straight stream of consciousness poetry:
This is more than slightly surreal this fact, this woman who wrote this very entertaining poem was born the same year I graduated from college
How is it possible she is an adult, writing about getting older even, using Lindsay Lohan in her poem, that she can even have experienced enough of life to have a part Part VII?
Forget I asked that question, please give me that honor as I step into cronedom with my head bowed, my daughter singing Taylor Swift in the background.
I am fascinated. I join her in thinking of Caracas, in Russia, having Fever, taking leave.
We poets are kindreds. I love-and-hate that because it means time doesn’t even stop for me and the fact Stanley Kunitz lived to more than one-hundred-years-old delights me.
I find gratitude’s hoodie sliding over my right eye to think, “Isn’t it fun that I love words so much and so does she and so did he.”
Before I get nauseas and wonder if the pain in my face is worse because the nerves of the skin moved from that other spot is making its way in my body again?
I smell my steamed rice, begging for salt, butter and my mouth.
As for Leigh Stein, I’ll check in with her later.
This next sentence may sound a lot stronger than my usual writing, but it is what I unapologetically believe. Waiting for inspiration is a ridiculous way to write either poetry or prose.
You can’t schedule inspiration, after all, because you never know where
inspiration will strike and sometimes it doesn’t strike.
It is time to remind yourself you must write, anyway with all the enthusiasm of a slightly hung over snail.
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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott
This is my twenty second post (of 31!) for the October Ultimate Blog Challenge.
Watch here for challenge posts which will include Writing Prompts, Writing
Tips and General Life Tips and Essays.
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
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