Sometimes I sit down at a laptop, or at a desk with a notebook if I’m feeling classy, and I tell Myself, “Write.”
And sometimes Myself replies, “Go to Hell.”
And that is what Hell is, I think. For me, anyway. Sitting at a desk trying to will myself to put words next to each other while my brain just flops down useless like a cat on a leash.
And when that happens, out of frustration things like this tend to also happen.
I suck at poetry
I suck as much as bees
bees can not write words
they’re smaller than cheese curds
besides they don’t have thumbs
and there are stingers on their bums
and still I bet a bee
writes better poems than me
In conclusion: Sometimes my writing process doesn’t make sense.
I think it’s an important lesson, though, to learn to write to your lowest standard. It’s okay to write something that’s not a masterpiece, or that doesn’t have seven layers of meaning for your readers to pick apart. And lastly, sometimes I forget that it’s okay to just have fun, too.