Is writing about writing a good idea? It’s seems kind of silly, and it seems to me like it would be very easy to come across at least a little arrogant if shared. That being said, I have written poems and bits and pieces about writing. I imagine that for any writer to have an audience of more than a few people, or only of friends, they’d have to be at least arrogant enough to believe that other people would go out of their way, even pay money, to read what they have written. Maybe arrogant isn’t the right word. Confident might be a better fit. Or, if not confident, then brave enough to overcome any feelings of inadequacy to put themselves and what they’ve written out there for the world to see.
Writers are arrogant creatures.
Gods create worlds and control universes.
But writers create Gods.
Am I arrogant? The first paragraph seemed to be pretty arrogant. I try not to act arrogant. I’m pretty sure the people who know me don’t think of me as the type of person who acts like he knows everything, or is the best at everything. I certainly don’t think I know everything. There are so many things I don’t know enough about to even know what to ask to begin learning about those things! Wait, what? Did I write that right? Exactly.
Words flow like water, like ink, like blood.
They tumble and crash and tear you up inside.
Hard and sharp. Ice. Cold enough to steal your breath away.
They roar and fly and lift your soul so high.
Fast and loud, an inferno to set your blood aflame.
They flow and surge and calm your nerves.
Smooth and gentle, warm and cool, soft to soothe your fears.
Even though I’ve written a few poems about writing, I don’t know how interesting or appealing they are. I’ve always felt odd about sharing them. When I write about writing, I write about how sometimes something opens up in my head, my heart, my soul, and the words just come pouring out. A lot of poems are left just as I write them the first time, such as the poems here, Poetry. Prose. and Writing, as well as the poems in my post random haikus. Which, ironically enough, are about haikus. Some I alter a little bit here and there, but not much, such as the poems in these posts, inside the deep and butterfly just floating by. Relatively few have I felt the need to rewrite the thought completely from scratch in a different way than I originally imagined them. I’m actually working on one of those right now. Maybe someday soon I will post it as well.
Ink flows through my veins
Pouring out wounds torn open by
Sharp thoughts and sharper emotions
Spilling onto paper in a torrent
I don’t know how much of a market there is for books or poems about writing. Books about how to write, sure. There’s a huge market for that, provided you have the expertise and experience to be able to be credible. I certainly don’t. Maybe if I ever become a famous writer, people will want to read my writings about writing. And yet here I am, sharing them in this blog as if people will want to read them. I guess I am arrogant, in my own way.
This poem is written by one
Who wishes to become a master
Of the written word
For when a thought is inked on paper
‘Tis forever bronzed in history, in time
And in the memory of humankind
For what phrase echoes inside the
Apprentice’s mind? None other than
“The pen is mightier than the sword”
I definitely have a lot to learn, a long way to go, and a lot of work to do.