I can't brag and say that I have been formally published, or that I have a process that is a wonderful, natural flow. I self-published two books of poetry a little while ago. One of them took a long time, because I gave it time. I typed and proofed and proofed and proofed and proofed. This was my baby, and I was cradling and loving on her like she was the most precious gift in the world. The other one was very spur of the moment. As in....I started on it New Year's Eve. Yeah. I drank pots and pots of coffee, and stayed up from the night prior until about 11:00 NYE to write. So right around the time everyone else was kissing, dancing, and looking cute, I was chillin' with a coffee buzz, a hard lemonade, and a Yoshi plush watching me scramble to post a manuscript of absolute insanity to CreateSpace. Would I ever do that again? Probably not. It was a challenge. "Can you write a small book of poetry reflecting on yourself before the year's end.....ON the last day of the year?" It was a challenge to my usual method of wanting to create, but having the tendency to procrastinate. I wanted to prove that I could get it done. Of COURSE I proofed this one, but it was pretty much as I went along, and a final six-time once over before the clock struck 11 PM CST.
Don't get me wrong--I'm not ashamed. I probably should be, as I'm surely insulting seasoned poets and poetess...es in the process of churning out feelings. I always have an urge to express something. It's almost like getting pushed over and over until I do something about it. I had two choices--make a reflective YouTube video, or write my heart out. Since I feel like my everything (okay most of it) belongs to writing, I followed my heart to that medium.
My process kinda just....is. It helps me churn out A's like a 3.7 GPA-havin' machine, but it's not exactly a cakewalk. I freeze, I get blocked, I sometimes sit in a frozen daze as I absorb and compile facts for proof and thesis...es. A part of me is so inflated that I tend to feel like "I got this!" and start writing novels, poems, songs, crappy plays, like the next Great American thing is on the tip of my fingers. I have one rejection letter under my belt, from Button Poetry, and I think that the literary world is all mine.
You know what a lot of it leads to? A lot of dusty, dying darlings in files and digital clouds. I often procrastinate...HEAVILY when it comes to posting blog ideas. There are drafts up to my neck on this thing. Spurs come and go, but concentration is something I tend to lack. Once I wait too long to get back, it's not the same. I realize that my "unique novel" is a cousin to The Hunger Games. I realize that Terry McMillan wrote a strong woman scorned novel dang near 20 years ago. I realize that somewhere, Maya Angelou is about to send a bolt of lightning to jolt me in the butt, and I better re-read, reconsider, and stop churning out things like fresh butter on the farm.
In other words, do the writing thing, but do it with love and care.
All things have some kind of process. Like my cousin and I discussed, structure and meaning go a long way. It helps keep things in order. I honestly don't write down everything I create story-wise. I call myself storing all the information in my head, allowing it to cultivate as I go along. The same applies to my poetry. I feel like my "muse" is talking to me, and all I do is let her move my fingers and tickle my brain. Usually, this is AWESOME until I either can't get to something to write it out, or the idea is absolute crap on paper/screen. All things can be revised, however.The only way to get better is to keep going at it. I've been "at it" since the age of 11, but have yet to really dip my toes into things like poetry readings/slams, and submissions to the great literary greats of the publishing world. Obviously, this dame has a long way to go. Creating darlings, killing some of them, and rushing the rest to an Internet store near you. It also helps if you let people in to read your work--all of it. This includes the bad stuff, the cliches, the dreck, the super-dreck, and the stuff that would make my high school Composition teacher turn Macintosh Apple red....but you're still doing the writing thing.
(Never give up.)