I don’t get distracted./
I’ve so oft reacted/
to great beauty/
and it never did do me/
any good./
Understood?

I’ve been thinking for a long time about doing a workshop on creative writing. One of the first lessons I’d have would be on “just do”. This was brought home forcefully today by a friend of mine. I wonder how many people (including myself) feel the same way as she did, at the beginning of the writing process:
“I’m not a writer. I never have any good thoughts and I’m not creative. But one day I was driving in the rain and I had this thought… and I wrote it down.”
“What was amazing to me is that I even wrote it down, that I thought it good enough to write down. But it felt good to create.”

Here’s what she wrote originally:
It is raining and in it I find solace, warmth and understanding.~ me

I commented that’s the way 90% of the world is: They have thoughts, but they are afraid or embarrased to write them down. Why?
Then I showed her something: With a little tweeking, her thought became a haiku (not that it’s better as a haiku… I think it’s brilliant as it first came out). But it points out the creative process: We have a raw thought. We capture it. We think about it. We tweek it. We publish it.

It is raining. In/
rain I find solace, warmth and /
deep understanding.

OR

It rains. I stand there./
In rain I find solace, warmth /
and understanding.

I’m trying
to not be too overly
blown
away by you,
but as the miles
and time
drift behind me,
the brain waves well up
and it’s proving
difficult.

It’s not strange
to stay up late
listening to the rain
splash on window grates.

To fondly gaze
at phone photos of you
and feel the haze
of the magic that you do.

To relax by sitting alone,
to meditate;
to stare at a phone
and contemplate.

Will you think it weird if I call?
No! It’s not absurd at all.

She has unbuttoned
her blouse,
opened
her coat,
laid bare
her soul
before
my eyes.

Jericho’s walls
fell
with such
faith.

I’m awed
not by what
she has said,
but that she said
anything at all.

To, slowly,
one by one,
unbutton
her soul,
exposing
her inner self,
laying bare
her heart,
having faith
and hope
that they won’t
be trampled,
took courage
she didn’t know
she had.

Yet her face
glows.
Her body
warms.
A smile breaks
across her lips.

She feels,
finally,
again.
And feeling
feels
good.

Who would design a/
cooking pan set with metal/
handles? Prob’ly men.

Oh quiet one,/
of who I am fond,/
please respond/
when your work is done.

I wouldn’t IM thee/
continually,/
nor interrupt thy work,/
but/
I thought/
an occasional flirt/
wouldn’t hurt.