The fear of making something happen, like standing on top of a ski slope. There is the momentum of the passion to create pushing you, and the pull of opportunity. The only trouble is that you don't know what is at the bottom of the slope. So, I have to write and trust, and send it out for someone to catch.
I haven't been sending out many poems lately. At times it feels like an endless cycle of rejection. I just haven't hit the right time. I'm not completely discouraged, I am simply focusing on the creating process and marketing what I already have published. I am selectively submitting poems a couple of times a year to different literary publications, but I'm not going broke on stamps and contest entry fees.
At the moment, I am working on my second poetry manuscript and concentrating on editing the first draft of my novel. I continue to envision success, and wonder what it could mean. As writers, we are the most fragile of egotists. The hard part is bringing it forward, and making the world listen. We want to set free our words, and yet hang on to our last edits for as long as we can. (This sentence was edited numerous times)
This week I started the ball rolling again... I put forward a volunteer commitment to organize a poetry reading at work. The incredible part ( or maybe not so incredible) is that I work in an environment where people would actually assemble and give up their regular lunch hour to listen to poetry. My co-workers are already encouraging me, asking about the details and making promises to attend.
I've decided to leave a few minutes open at the end of the reading for anyone who wants to read poetry, their own or a favourite poems, so that it is more accessible. This won't be a poetry cafe atmosphere where people are accustomed to celebrating creative thought, so I want to transform this work space and let the audience breathe and feel comfortable and engaged. This isn't just about me and my book.
Still, I am trying to bring my work forward and, at the same time, kick off a poetic vibe. The fact that I am the catalyst for this event thrills me, and causes some mild trepidation. I've been getting in the habit of putting myself forward, and pushing down the fear. I've made contact with an established poet, Russell Thorburn, offering to review his most recent book of poems titled, Father, Tell Me I Have Not Aged. My drive is active and my mind is filled with ideas, plots, phrases and poems. I'm letting my passion push me and not worrying so much about what lies at the bottom of the ski slope.