I just closed my eyes and said to myself, write a sentence about what you see first. I opened my eyes and saw books stacked on a table. So I write: "If that stack of unread books falls then I'll gather them and restack them in some new randan order—and they'll go unread and beloved until they fall again."
I'm excited to read the comments: I'm always looking for ideas.
I have two. The first one is seasonal, and has to do with gardening. Getting my hands in the soil I usually find myself on a thread that leads to a good first line (or something to riff off of). I suppose it could be any activity that lets your mind wander.
The second is journaling, kind of in the style of Basho. That is, writing down what is happening in my life till I come to a pause, and then try out a haiku that matches it. Usually the haiku then gets absorbed or is the catalyst for another poem.
There is something, surely, to movement. Why Dickens walked all those hours through his streets he knew so well--as if through his very mind. And working with the hands. (As we used to write long-hand...and some still do. Or for poetry. I do find I have to for poetry.
This second thought--and to write about that moment in your life. The internal of Sherman's "write about what you see...now!" above.
Autumn, above, going internal to draw out.
I'm about to leave on a roadtrip, in an old campervan--and have set aside a new notebook for daily jottings. Last summer, on a hike, I worked for one haiku/day. I am observant on hikes, but it made me stop and absorb.
When I was younger I thought I needed to hike to someplace and "experience" something and write it down immediately. Now I feel like I do more as you just mentioned: note something, or find a piece of real that lands with a nice cadence in my head, then write that down, and has potential for something longer.
Movement does seem key. Bike rides are good for that too.
I work through the things that are causing me pain. I go towards the pain through writing instead of avoiding it.
Not shying away. Yes!
Towards and through the pain. What it takes to give birth.
I just closed my eyes and said to myself, write a sentence about what you see first. I opened my eyes and saw books stacked on a table. So I write: "If that stack of unread books falls then I'll gather them and restack them in some new randan order—and they'll go unread and beloved until they fall again."
"unread and (still) beloved" -- oh very good!
Glad you shared this.
I'm excited to read the comments: I'm always looking for ideas.
I have two. The first one is seasonal, and has to do with gardening. Getting my hands in the soil I usually find myself on a thread that leads to a good first line (or something to riff off of). I suppose it could be any activity that lets your mind wander.
The second is journaling, kind of in the style of Basho. That is, writing down what is happening in my life till I come to a pause, and then try out a haiku that matches it. Usually the haiku then gets absorbed or is the catalyst for another poem.
There is something, surely, to movement. Why Dickens walked all those hours through his streets he knew so well--as if through his very mind. And working with the hands. (As we used to write long-hand...and some still do. Or for poetry. I do find I have to for poetry.
This second thought--and to write about that moment in your life. The internal of Sherman's "write about what you see...now!" above.
Autumn, above, going internal to draw out.
I'm about to leave on a roadtrip, in an old campervan--and have set aside a new notebook for daily jottings. Last summer, on a hike, I worked for one haiku/day. I am observant on hikes, but it made me stop and absorb.
Good to see all...
When I was younger I thought I needed to hike to someplace and "experience" something and write it down immediately. Now I feel like I do more as you just mentioned: note something, or find a piece of real that lands with a nice cadence in my head, then write that down, and has potential for something longer.
Movement does seem key. Bike rides are good for that too.