Right now, I'm feverishly trying to meet a writing deadline for today. I've known about it all week, but the diversions of life (like a trip to the only pharmacy in the county that will fill my dog's prescription, a successful search for a new computer bag, and an irritated piriformis) have a way of sapping my inspiration.
This magazine article is about a fascinating real estate company in Tuscany. In fact, if I had the money, I would buy one of their properties tomorrow just so I could go out for myself and wander the ancient cobblestone streets of Italian villages. And that's just what I'm trying to convey in this article. So far, I have 162 of 1000 words finished.
Thinking that some wine might push along the creative process, I opened the closest thing I had to an Italian wine. It's a German auslese: very, very sweet, and it's from a region far closer to Italy than the Argentine wines on my shelf. So here I am molding the words in my head like modeling clay and sipping a delightful white wine and hoping that the right phrases are somewhere in the ether around me. I really could do this full time, you know.
This has been my life for the last few weeks.
My one creative endeavor has been an experimental poem that's not quite finished. I watched a documentary on Jack Kerouac last week. Although I'm not a huge fan of his work, I like his concept of spontaneous prose and the idea of seeking out and writing about life's experiences. One of Kerouac's more experimental works was a poem about a conversation with the ocean. In the poem, he captured the sounds of the ocean.
With that in mind, I sat on my porch one afternoon as the evening storms were approaching and wrote down what I heard. Keep in my that this is a very rough draft taken directly from my journal. If and when I finish it, I will share the final version. In the meantime here is my "Conversations with the Wind":
aaaAAHHHAAaaa
Flit-it-it
OOOOoohoooAhhh
Flit-it-flap-flAP-AP-Ap-it
hooooOOOoooohoooOOOooohooo
flit-flap-flap-tit-tit
ShooSheeShaShooSheeSha
haAAAAAAAAAA
hiIIIIIIIiiiii
noHAhaHaoo
shew sha sha shew
dip-dip-flit-tit-tit
whoooooooSHHHHHHoooo
shhhhhHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOoooo
whichachachacha
This magazine article is about a fascinating real estate company in Tuscany. In fact, if I had the money, I would buy one of their properties tomorrow just so I could go out for myself and wander the ancient cobblestone streets of Italian villages. And that's just what I'm trying to convey in this article. So far, I have 162 of 1000 words finished.
Thinking that some wine might push along the creative process, I opened the closest thing I had to an Italian wine. It's a German auslese: very, very sweet, and it's from a region far closer to Italy than the Argentine wines on my shelf. So here I am molding the words in my head like modeling clay and sipping a delightful white wine and hoping that the right phrases are somewhere in the ether around me. I really could do this full time, you know.
This has been my life for the last few weeks.
My one creative endeavor has been an experimental poem that's not quite finished. I watched a documentary on Jack Kerouac last week. Although I'm not a huge fan of his work, I like his concept of spontaneous prose and the idea of seeking out and writing about life's experiences. One of Kerouac's more experimental works was a poem about a conversation with the ocean. In the poem, he captured the sounds of the ocean.
With that in mind, I sat on my porch one afternoon as the evening storms were approaching and wrote down what I heard. Keep in my that this is a very rough draft taken directly from my journal. If and when I finish it, I will share the final version. In the meantime here is my "Conversations with the Wind":
aaaAAHHHAAaaa
Flit-it-it
OOOOoohoooAhhh
Flit-it-flap-flAP-AP-Ap-it
hooooOOOoooohoooOOOooohooo
flit-flap-flap-tit-tit
ShooSheeShaShooSheeSha
haAAAAAAAAAA
hiIIIIIIIiiiii
noHAhaHaoo
shew sha sha shew
dip-dip-flit-tit-tit
whoooooooSHHHHHHoooo
shhhhhHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOoooo
whichachachacha
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