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"Inklight", the newly re-named students' creative writing society (formerly 'Spotlight'), is having its second Open Mic of the semester on Monday. The first was about a month ago, and, having not written anything new for it, I performed a couple of older poems that the new folks wouldn't have heard. Then, a few weeks later, they had a very exciting Poetry Slam, in which I also performed older pieces. I did pretty well -- placed 2nd out of 9 -- and now seem to be cultivating some sort of terrifying new reputation as a 'poet'. St Andrews is pretty small, and it doesn't take much to become 'known'.
So now, Monday, Open Mic. I know, from past events, that there will be several well-meaning others there, imploring, encouraging, urging me to "read something". But I have nothing. I have not written anything new since MAY. Or was it April? It's all slipping away; time, energy, creativity. These days I can't seem to write much of anything, not even this damn LiveJournal. Making the new blog was supposed to be a release from the growing feeling that everything I wrote had to be 'good'. It was supposed to be the nice showcase where I could put up the better essays and things, to leave this as a casual space to post normal life updates, and navel-gazing entries like this one. But, if anything, I've actually written less here since making that than ever before.
I keep saying this (and, honestly, I keep meaning it), but I will try to update here more often. I don't have the mechanical vocabulary to describe the analogy I want to make, but I feel like this journal is like the little spinner of constant motion that allows me to take up other forms of writing when I need to. With it broken, or halting, I've barely done anything else.
So now, Monday, Open Mic. I know, from past events, that there will be several well-meaning others there, imploring, encouraging, urging me to "read something". But I have nothing. I have not written anything new since MAY. Or was it April? It's all slipping away; time, energy, creativity. These days I can't seem to write much of anything, not even this damn LiveJournal. Making the new blog was supposed to be a release from the growing feeling that everything I wrote had to be 'good'. It was supposed to be the nice showcase where I could put up the better essays and things, to leave this as a casual space to post normal life updates, and navel-gazing entries like this one. But, if anything, I've actually written less here since making that than ever before.
I keep saying this (and, honestly, I keep meaning it), but I will try to update here more often. I don't have the mechanical vocabulary to describe the analogy I want to make, but I feel like this journal is like the little spinner of constant motion that allows me to take up other forms of writing when I need to. With it broken, or halting, I've barely done anything else.
