Four days in to National Novel
Writing Month and I still cannot believe I signed up for this. You guys probably don’t remember the last time I posted here (January) and my “excuse” is lack of time.
Really? Yes. Really? Ok, fine! It’s lack of time management. See, I break easily and I cannot be tortured. If I am so in flux and busy and undisciplined with blogging, why would I volunteer for a month long writing challenge?
I’m an insane egotistical, neurotic, sycophant with a competitive streak. Yup. I said it. I’m a writer.
The last time I did NaNo (2010), my life was totally different. I was an online college student with hours of free time at my disposal. Now I work 55 hours a week, run a small business, and it is football season. Signing up was not a calculated move. I keep mulling over reasons why I joined this year but the truth is, it doesn’t matter. I needed to write.
So yes. It’s day four and I’m going to win. If you’re doing NaNo, let’s buddy up (User Name: maxiesteer) online and get this done. I’ve pulled Author Karina Espinosa into the madness, so it’s good to have a few friends along for the ride.
What was your reason for doing NaNoWriMo? Comment below with your motivations!
It happens when you’ve been rubbed the wrong way.
It’s simple physics: building friction, harmful diction, sparks may fly.
Tension and confrontation pound with the potential to be abstergents
for your character, if you so chose.
Baptism by fire fissures into a schism where you must decide
who you are: burned and scarred, refined and cleansed, pained or marred.
The flame lacks mercy, discernment, and phlegmatic disposition,
but your burn carries the memory of hurt, healing, and action.
Let it smart till your heart finds the salve it needs.
Let it burn till the flame no longer breathes.
How are you doing with your poem-a-day journey? I have been writing, but offline. Sorry I haven’t kept you all in the loop, but you’re getting to read the best ones.
I write about fire a lot. Do you think this would be a good theme for a collection?
In Case of Heat
This heat between us
curls up, asleep in its turmoil
blowing spits of recycled air
at our toes. This heat manages
a space that should not exist
between the narrow flanks of a single bed,
but yet weighted we boil, stirred by
a breeze conditioned to burrow
and tarnish the hollow ground
on which we totter.
This heat beats our words
in a tongue-race, pushing silence
and miscommunication into our night
time prayers, blanketed with layers of
the unsaid –snug, content, complacent–
it lies here between our backs
as they face each other a bedtime standoff
after a passive disagreement, though we
should not call it that. The heat allows
no combat or fireworks to identify
where there may be bleeding,
but blood is here, sweltering between
our parallel spines as this unbearable heat
conceals our withdrawn weapons in sweaty sheets
and releases murmurs about the morning maintenance.
The heat reveals no fix this malady, no wrench
to lessen this wedge, no ice to calm its destruction.
So much catching up to do!