Caught in the Downpour

It's raining, it's pouring...well, it's drizzling, if we're talking about the weather, but in a metaphoric sense, it HAS been pouring. With National Poetry Month on the horizon (only a couple more days) and Alexandria's Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day on April 30 to be organized and planned, and the awards dinner for the Alexandria Commission on Women, and a reading gig last week at Greenspring...I have been working hard to stay afloat. 

My laptop and I have been essentially conjoined for the past few days, and I have been pursuing a crash course in my relatively new Mac's capabilities vs. my tried-and-true Dell. I know the Mac can do what I want to do, but it's more familiar on the Dell--and thus faster for me. However, I still feel as if I am spending most of my waking hours transferring files via email or thumb-drive to and from whichever laptop requires them at the moment. I have promised myself that, as of May, I will become a one-machine woman again. 

If you are interested in PIYP Day, it is really starting to shape up. Everyone I talk to seems to be enthusiastic about playing a role--from my bank to the Athenaeum, from church friends to people I've met at the Folger Theater. I'm just beginning to realize that I am not in this alone, either. Cherylanne Colton has been wonderful at recognizing what needs to be done and who needs to be contacted and when. For a seat-of-the-pants organizer like me, she is a godsend: someone who develops workplans and lists vs. someone like me, who relies on serendipity far too often.

But, lest we forget the whole thrust of this month...let me issue a challenge to all you poets out there. The Academy of American Poets suggests that we challenge ourselves to write a poem a day this month, and I'm going to give it a try. They may not be (as Boris and Natasha might say) "gem every time", but if I could get something on paper (or onscreen, as it were) I'd at least have some raw material to work on during May. Thirty poems! Imagine that.  If I could do that, I might even be ready for my next round of readings when they come along.

Perfect

I have been cleaning out my office (well, attic-with-shelves-and-a-table) and am appalled by the number of notebooks I have in my possession. There are other things I accumulate-- purses, bags, wallets, and don't even ask me about my box of greeting cards!--but the notebooks are far and away the most prevalent. 

I like paper, and there are apparently as many ways of binding it together in a pleasing wrapper than I ever thought possible. There is the leather-bound journal I bought in Florence, the empty stitched notebook that fits into another lovely leather case (Crane's stationery, Tyson's Corner). There are the Circa notebooks from Levengers (you can actually rearrange the pages!) and the quotidian spiral books that remind me of taking class notes in college. Then, there are the Moleskin notebooks that come with blank or lined or quadrille paper, and have that eminently practical elastic band that holds the book together so the pages don't get mussed.

There are 3-ring and 6-ring notebooks, some with zippered cases, some with handles or shoulder straps for easy transport. There are presentation folders for those days when I need to carry only a few papers, but need to look organized. Some books are small and purse-worthy; some are tall and reminiscent of ledgers you might see in Dickensian stories; some are like reporters' notebooks, and others, artists' sketchbooks. When opened, each holds a tantalizing morsel of information. One documented a European trip in 1985, another contained a half-finished letter written after our move to Alexandria. Some have snatches of The Novel, or bits of writings that surfaced later in different form. 

The goal, I believe, has always been to have a journal, in which I would consistently record my days. I have failed utterly. I do write things down, but hardly ever in the same place. The current notebook is always upstairs or in the car or abandoned on the dining room table. Inaccessible. And I am far too lazy to pursue it. Far easier to write in or on whatever is handy.

I'm still seeking the perfect notebook: the one with smooth, lined paper that makes my pen float across the page, recording beautiful, moving words and deep thoughts. The very act of opening this book will be inspirational--a far cry from the mad scribbling that goes on at stoplights when I get an idea on the road. My notebooks are so civilized, and I am still trying to believe there is one out there that can civilize me.

Not a chance. Inspiration isn't neat and tidy; it doesn't come when bidden, if it deigns to come at all. Inspiration is a rowdy mutt that leads you through the muck and mire of writing, chasing and being chased, cheerfully holding ideas, like Frisbees, in its grinning mouth--teasing and slobbering and constantly evading capture. If I could write in my prissy notebook every day, in a civilized fashion, it would hardly be any fun at all. It would be like walking an extremely well-behaved showdog: one that had had all its 'dog' removed. My notebook collection bows to that ideal--but I don't think I really want it. Give me a mutt and an undisciplined cross-country chase any day of the week. Arf.

(Note: the picture above is an anonymous internet mutt, unfortunately not mine.)

Inspiration?

People sometimes talk about the internet (and technology in general) as if it were a bad thing; that it contributes to the general illiteracy of the population. I'm sorry, but I don't agree. When I was a kid, the same arguments were made about television, and before that, about movies or comic books or dime novels...Whatever the new thing was, it was obviously bad news for education, for attention span, for vocabulary, and even the physical well-being of children.

Now, I don't pretend to have proven anything scientifically, and it may well be that there are some bad effects that are traceable to our more recent gadgets. However, the alarmists of our generation may not have it all correct either. Case in point: Facebook Notes. In the past week or so, I have been subjected to an inordinate number of Facebook Notes requests. All of these ask you to copy the message, delete the previous person's answers and insert your own--then tag your friends and pass the task on to them. One could spend one's days simply replying to these requests--if one had the time to spare--and then, reading the results. Who doesn't have a little curiosity about their friends' responses to some random personal questions? 

This week, I have been researching writing prompts--ways to get kids to write poetry--for the simple reason that I am doing a couple of poetry workshops for middle school students. One of the ways I ran across was something called 'automatic' poems. The rationale behind this (grossly oversimplified here) is to give the kids a template and have them fill in the blanks.  At the same time I was reading about this method, I serendipitously received the Facebook request that asked you to Google your own name plus the word "needs", copy the first ten hits and post the document on your Notes page.

Well...to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail. And to a woman with a poetry workshop, this looked like an automatic poem. I tried it, and, you know, it didn't turn out badly. Now I'm looking at everything that comes over my Facebook transom in a slightly different light. Could I make a poem out of the "One Word" request? What about the BBC Book list? Or the Six Line Memoir? Who knows but that technology in the form of Facebook is presenting me with an endless source of inspiration? Who knows what other gadgets and so-called "time-wasters" might provide? This might even provide an entry into writing for the sixth-graders I'm tasked with inspiring. Anything's possible... I'm optimistic.

And for those of you who might be interested..the poem's on my Notes page...