“I say have something to say” is the temporary title of a novel I have been writing for more than 5 years. It is a series of intertwined stories about those from the margins of society who speak out, spoke up, or tell tales from the heart. None of those stories has a final ending because each outburst is a catharsis, or catalyst to a reaction that was needed, or unexpected. Since I am not a novelist, I am comfortable with a slow pace of writing something. Six months may go by between days that I work with it. Each time is like picking up the phone to continue a conversation with an old friend. I have decade’s old verse that still gets reworked. This is not a burden, but a joy and/or curiosity revisited. It just feels good and purposeful to do it. Like putting on an old comfortable sweater to sit on the back porch, again and again. It is not about making better art for others. It is about the pleasures or feeding the need to create artistic energy. Even if we stop mid-way through the process, that workpiece still holds the potential to thrill, motivate, intimidate, endear, or confuse others. It can wait and hold that energy forever. The reserve of energy we feel when reading something new or old is always there, whether listening to a favorite song, touching sculpture in the park, or going to visit a favorite visual art. We may not know from where all energy comes, but at least we know from where it can go. We can be touched again and again by the same piece of art. And for some, like me, the writing process has become a form of therapy. For that I am thankful for the privilege and opportunity to “self-medicate” with words. And thanks to healers/doctors like you, who provide forums (clinics of some sort) for us, we can continue to do so.
That temporary title......is kind of fantastic hahaha. I love it. Now I want to read this, almost like a serial, a Eureka Street type feel. Please do so, please, adn please share with us.
Ah, the creative alchemy...Making magic from the mundanity of life, taking such deep longing and melancholy and finding within it beauty to share with the world, the bringing love out of hatred and fear, the connections built from disparaging parts. We are magic when we let our souls ignite and speak to us the words written in our bones. It is a brave undertaking to dive within and share external, but oh, the freedom there.
Tyler thank you for the reminder of what drew me here in the first place. The magic of expression. I know I don’t always respond as much as I should or would like to. Sometimes it’s life that gets in the way and sometimes I just second guess myself into thinking that no one wants to hear what I have to say! But, you do inspire me to write and create and put my soul out there for others to see. Naked and unapologetic. Lightened and lifted. A sigh that completes with the push of the send button.
There’s a three page essay on my drive in response to your three part post on grief but in the process of writing it people keep dying. And so now I need to go back and adapt it to reflect my own emotional evolution. Whether I end up sharing it or not, it has been incredibly helpful to the healing of my heart and I’m grateful for your vulnerability and that you give up so much of your own time and energy to bring these things out in others and create a safe space for so many people to share and grow!
In short: you’re effen rad and I’m so grateful to have found you in this great big universe!
First, EVERYONE wants to hear what you have to say. Always. That's the point of this whole place, to spread the fire we each light. Not one fire, but many. I look forward to you sharing your essay, and I am so sorry for the reason for the rewrites. What a thing. Either way, we love you, we're here, and we're huge fans of Yours too.
I’m not pretending to be astounded. You’re astounding.
My very favourite Stephen King novel ‘Lisey’s Story’ has a character who has to hurt himself to “let the bad gunky out”. While the character is himself a writer and the bad gunky is very bad indeed in his case, I’ve always been grateful to be able to use writing to let my own version of bad gunky out.
I've never heard "Bad gunky" but now I want to use it always for when I feel the need to release it all hahaha. This is amazing, you are amazing. I think the only astounding thing, is this place we've built.
I remember when I would sit down at a piano and put my hands down on a new chord. The words and music would spill. Automatically and completely. There have been times when I have written other things that it spilt the same way.
I've been thinking about this today after admiring something a friend wrote to describe her day so eloquently. I used to write like that. Where did it go? Has it been lost to the antidepressants and a mood stabiliser? Did THAT alchemy steal my words?
And yet, I feel that I can thrive on the prompts I am given.
I once joined a writing group that was all about daily prompts, and I loved it. It was only for thirty days. I would have loved it to have gone on. I wonder where that would lead me now? I remember writing some deeply beautiful things.
But now, I digress to the Vonnegut quote about being creative. I have fretted that I am no longer that. But then, I wonder if my life itself is my greatest creation. I wonder.
I love this piece! I feel the same about writing. It just falls out of me. I love all the poems you weaved into this essay. Especially the poem that talks about everything boiling down to the same thing. I saved that one. So so good.
“I say have something to say” is the temporary title of a novel I have been writing for more than 5 years. It is a series of intertwined stories about those from the margins of society who speak out, spoke up, or tell tales from the heart. None of those stories has a final ending because each outburst is a catharsis, or catalyst to a reaction that was needed, or unexpected. Since I am not a novelist, I am comfortable with a slow pace of writing something. Six months may go by between days that I work with it. Each time is like picking up the phone to continue a conversation with an old friend. I have decade’s old verse that still gets reworked. This is not a burden, but a joy and/or curiosity revisited. It just feels good and purposeful to do it. Like putting on an old comfortable sweater to sit on the back porch, again and again. It is not about making better art for others. It is about the pleasures or feeding the need to create artistic energy. Even if we stop mid-way through the process, that workpiece still holds the potential to thrill, motivate, intimidate, endear, or confuse others. It can wait and hold that energy forever. The reserve of energy we feel when reading something new or old is always there, whether listening to a favorite song, touching sculpture in the park, or going to visit a favorite visual art. We may not know from where all energy comes, but at least we know from where it can go. We can be touched again and again by the same piece of art. And for some, like me, the writing process has become a form of therapy. For that I am thankful for the privilege and opportunity to “self-medicate” with words. And thanks to healers/doctors like you, who provide forums (clinics of some sort) for us, we can continue to do so.
The power of words.
So much energy released,
When shared with others!
That temporary title......is kind of fantastic hahaha. I love it. Now I want to read this, almost like a serial, a Eureka Street type feel. Please do so, please, adn please share with us.
Ah, the creative alchemy...Making magic from the mundanity of life, taking such deep longing and melancholy and finding within it beauty to share with the world, the bringing love out of hatred and fear, the connections built from disparaging parts. We are magic when we let our souls ignite and speak to us the words written in our bones. It is a brave undertaking to dive within and share external, but oh, the freedom there.
You absolutely nailed it here. "The words written in our bones." I love this.
Tyler thank you for the reminder of what drew me here in the first place. The magic of expression. I know I don’t always respond as much as I should or would like to. Sometimes it’s life that gets in the way and sometimes I just second guess myself into thinking that no one wants to hear what I have to say! But, you do inspire me to write and create and put my soul out there for others to see. Naked and unapologetic. Lightened and lifted. A sigh that completes with the push of the send button.
There’s a three page essay on my drive in response to your three part post on grief but in the process of writing it people keep dying. And so now I need to go back and adapt it to reflect my own emotional evolution. Whether I end up sharing it or not, it has been incredibly helpful to the healing of my heart and I’m grateful for your vulnerability and that you give up so much of your own time and energy to bring these things out in others and create a safe space for so many people to share and grow!
In short: you’re effen rad and I’m so grateful to have found you in this great big universe!
First, EVERYONE wants to hear what you have to say. Always. That's the point of this whole place, to spread the fire we each light. Not one fire, but many. I look forward to you sharing your essay, and I am so sorry for the reason for the rewrites. What a thing. Either way, we love you, we're here, and we're huge fans of Yours too.
I’m not pretending to be astounded. You’re astounding.
My very favourite Stephen King novel ‘Lisey’s Story’ has a character who has to hurt himself to “let the bad gunky out”. While the character is himself a writer and the bad gunky is very bad indeed in his case, I’ve always been grateful to be able to use writing to let my own version of bad gunky out.
I've never heard "Bad gunky" but now I want to use it always for when I feel the need to release it all hahaha. This is amazing, you are amazing. I think the only astounding thing, is this place we've built.
LOVE this take on writing. Truly alchemical.
I love that you love it :) That's alchemy, love from nothing at all.
I do not pretend ... I am astounded.
I remember when I would sit down at a piano and put my hands down on a new chord. The words and music would spill. Automatically and completely. There have been times when I have written other things that it spilt the same way.
I've been thinking about this today after admiring something a friend wrote to describe her day so eloquently. I used to write like that. Where did it go? Has it been lost to the antidepressants and a mood stabiliser? Did THAT alchemy steal my words?
And yet, I feel that I can thrive on the prompts I am given.
I once joined a writing group that was all about daily prompts, and I loved it. It was only for thirty days. I would have loved it to have gone on. I wonder where that would lead me now? I remember writing some deeply beautiful things.
But now, I digress to the Vonnegut quote about being creative. I have fretted that I am no longer that. But then, I wonder if my life itself is my greatest creation. I wonder.
I love this piece! I feel the same about writing. It just falls out of me. I love all the poems you weaved into this essay. Especially the poem that talks about everything boiling down to the same thing. I saved that one. So so good.
Conduit, not a conductor. You, too, are one. :)
Can I share any of these poems or was this for paid subscribers only? I always want to be respectful of your work.
Of course :)