Category Archives: The Writer’s Life

New Poem Published In Vine Leaves Literary Journal

Today sees the publication of one of my poems, ELIHU’S MEDITATION ON QUESTIONS UNANSWERED in Vine Leaves Literary Journal.

—“beautiful agony”—

Elihu was one of characters who came and sat with Job in the Old Testament Book Of Job. He said nothing while his companions lectured Job after his loss and suffering.

The origin of the poem came about during a staff retreat where I work. The focus of the day was on suffering and a colleague shared her remarkable journey of the last few years. It was heartbreaking yet imbibed with a sense of joy.

It made me think why we don’t simply sit with our friends when we are suffering; instead we try to offer platitudes and trite condolences. We are afraid of silence, afraid of our own suffering, or the threat of suffering. We conveniently limit suffering to news excerpts on television, subjects we can listen to and then forget about when the segment is over. It doesn’t bring about change in ourselves.

Suffering, when focused on the ones we love, is a time for mourning and contemplation. It is a time for identifying with their pain and suffering. It is a time to act, to comfort, to listen, to be silent, to make a meal, mow their lawn, fold their washing, buy them a coffee.

Sometimes it is the hardest thing to remain silent when everyone else is speaking.

You can read more in Issue 10 and a wealth of stirring poetry, vignettes and art.

Follow Vine Leaves Literary Journal on twitter (@VineLeavesLJ) and Facebook.

Want To Be Creative? Ask Good Questions

The key to unlocking creativity is asking good questions.

There is no singular question, like having the key to a cupboard, to unlock creativity. It’s more like being given a set of keys to unlock many cupboards, boxes, safes, vaults and the little box you thought you’d forgotten about.

When you know which key unlocks which box, you have an opportunity to develop your creative skills.

Non-creative people, those who are yet to understand that they too, can BE a creative person, look on in wonder and ask, “Where do you get your ideas from?” They are looking at the key in their hand and using it to dig the wax out of their ears or stir the milk and sugar into their cup of tea.

Last year I wrote 11 Facetious (and 1 Serious) Answers to the Question, “Where Do You Get Your Ideas?”

The question is a default position where the person does not believe they can be a creative person, and they are seeking out a secret formula to unlock the means to creativity. The non-creative person thinks, “If only I had an idea I could be creative.” There is a two-fold belief system happening. First, I can’t be creative and second, I just need an idea and I’ll be creative.

These two belief systems stem from a lack of belief in a person’s ability to be creative. It gives the non-creative person an excuse NOT to do something, because they don’t believe they can generate an idea nor do they believe they have the skills to be creative. They compare themselves to others and think, “I can never be as creative as Person A or Person Z.”

For the creative person, the generation of ideas varies. Some have no problem finding ideas, others select their ideas judiciously while still others discover their ideas like diamonds, digging through layers and layers until they strike upon it.

Questions, Questions, Questions

The key to being creative lies in asking good questions. What those questions are will vary from person to person, and from medium to medium.

The writer may not ask the same question as the painter, or the photographer may not ask the same question as the musician.

There are two fundamental questions that all creative people ask:
What is the purpose of this work?
Who is my intended audience?

Beyond these basic questions, creative types need impetus and direction. To develop a creative life we need to ask questions that begin with “What…?” or “How…?” or “Why…?”

  • What will challenge me?
  • What have I not tried before?
  • Who can I collaborate with?
  • Why do I want to write or paint or draw or learn an instrument?
  • Can I try this piece in a different genre? a different form?
  • What inspires me?
  • What negates my inspiration and sucks me dry?
  • What do I want to achieve?
  • What have I not achieved yet?
  • Have I set a timeline for my goals?
  • What skills can I learn from experimenting in a different medium?

In the search for understanding about what it means to be creative, to understand how a creative person generates ideas, we must ask good questions; ones that provide momentum and direction to our creative endeavours. Good questions help us understand our creative processes and build good creative habits.

If you have ever wanted to be creative, learn to ask good questions to help unlock your creativity and have a fulfilling creative life.

What questions would you ask to unlock your creativity?

Why Literature?

I was reading through a series of interviews conducted by indigenous author, Anita Heiss (@AnitaHeiss), with other indigenous Australian writers.

You can read the wonderful series here.

I have no mob, no country, as I am not an indigenous Aboriginal Australian. I respect the land I live in, and acknowledge the traditional owners of the land where I live, and where I teach: the Darug people, past, present and future.

It was one question in the interview series that sparked my tangential thinking; one question that the creative person must ask of themselves. The question was posed for writers, “Of all the art forms, why literature?” 

The question can be rephrased for any creative forms: “Of all the art forms, why music, or art, or photography, or sculpture, or film?” If I have missed your chosen creative medium, please add it to the list, and I apologise for leaving it out.

It made me examine why I write, to ask why I write.

Here’s the easy answer. I suck at drawing and art. I am an average musician, ok, drummer. I have rhythm but dance is beyond me. Singing is WAAAAY out of the question; my vocal chords produce sounds that are neither mellifluous nor tuneful.

So, why words?

I wrote a manifesto some time ago to explain why I write but I want to explore why I use words as the medium of my creativity.

I find words are a meditation, a mastication of ideas and thoughts which hopefully don’t come out as poo. Words are an exploration and investigation, a divining of questions, framed by the experience of the individuals I write about. Writing is creating and understanding the character of the story, seeing the person as an individual. Not as an archetype but as an identifiable person to explore big (and little) ideas (often the minutiae of life). But I’m not focused on writing parables.

Words give me the opportunity to explore the world as I see it and understand it or want to question it through the perspective of a character. The world of common suburbia is where I place my stories.

Words are the best medium for me to communicate it. There is too great a disparity between what I imagine and my skills when it comes to art or music or any other artistic endeavour other than writing for me to attempt it. Words allow me to bridge that gap. That’s not to say I won’t still dabble with art nor stop playing music; but they are not my preferred medium.

It is words for me.

Of all art forms, why *fill in the blank* ?

Ultimately, it’s a question all creative people must address at some point in their journey.

All great creative types have a unique perspective that allows them to create magnificent works of art. The artist sees through their eyes and through their hands to paint or sculpt. The filmmaker and photographer frame the world through their lens. The musician composes in a language that transcends conscious understanding.

Creative people tell stories with their works of art. The audience engages with the story within the work, or the work creates a story the viewer, listener or reader relates to and begins to pass the story on to others.

Art is about communicating. I choose words over brush, camera or instrument.

Why do you use your chosen medium?

Story – Parable or Parallel?

When I was a child I devoured the books of Adrian Plass (The Sacred Diary of Adrian Plass Aged 37 /4, The Horizontal Epistles of Andromeda Veal, Stress Family Robinson, View From A Bouncy Castle, Cabbages for the King, The Theatrical Tapes of Leonard Thynn, to name a few). I haven’t read his later works, though not for lack of wanting.

What engaged me was the nature of his story telling. In his novels it was the humanity and humility of people that I engaged with, seeing the everyday flaws and faults, while coming to a greater understanding of people and their idiosyncracies. The people were real yet revealed to me an understanding of a greater truth or moral behind the story.

They were extended parables, stories that taught you something about yourself, about humanity as a greater whole. And I’ve come to realise lately that this parabolic structure has influenced and informed why I tell stories and my interest in writing, leading to defining my writing as “suburban realism.”

Parables

We are most familiar with parables from the Gospels as spoken by Jesus: The Prodigal Son, The Lost Sheep, The Mustard Seed. They often began, “The Kingdom of God is like…” and used images and illustrations familiar to the people as a way of explaining a greater moral principle or spiritual truth.

But should all stories be parables, demonstration lessons or didactic tools? I don’t think so.

We spruik modern parables today via social media; those feel good stories people post that go viral. For example, the Washington Post experiment featuring violin virtuoso Joshua Bell (I think the experiment has many flaws, but that’s for another time).

We watch it cycle through our feeds, read it story, understand the point it is making but are quick to click through and move on through our timelines.

We baulk when stories such as these, and by extension, a short story or novel, film or documentary, comes across as obvious preaching or didactic. However we understand in certain circumstances and settings, a parable is appropriate. 

A parable helps us to understand something greater than the immediate world of the story. Yet it is a fallacy to see all stories as parables, as analogies of greater truths unless specifically intended by the author.

Parables serve a purpose but can be a limiting form and structure for a writer.

Parallels

I also see stories as parallels. Within the form of a short story, a novella or a novel, we see the life of a character transcribed and transformed before us. As we read, we walk alongside the character and watch the emotional ebbs and flows. At times we want to reach out our hand and hold theirs, laugh with them, embrace them in their sorrow or hold them at arm’s length in disgust.

As we parallel the character, we turn a mirror onto ourselves and perhaps see traits of the character we wished we had, or wished we could hide from others.

One purpose of fiction is to tell an engaging story, connecting them with the reader, transporting them into another world, another reality, and to perhaps learn from the experience; to ask the hard questions, even if we end up with more questions and fewer answers; to extrapolate possibilities and infer consequences.

Is all writing an attempt to write a parable, to tell a greater truth or are we writing stories to parallel our existence? The idea that it can be simultaneously a parable and a parallel excites me. 

Failure, Fear, Rejection and Resilience

Creative people are afraid of failure, and too often we fear our creative process and creative ability. In the last two weeks I’ve explored this in: Why Are Creative People Afraid of Failure and Creative People: Fear Not.

In the words of Inigo Montoya, “Let me explain. There is too much; let me sum up.”

Every writer and creative person will define it differently, but at the core, failure is a sense of inability to reconcile the imagined world and the real world, seeing the shortfall between the expectation and reality.

Failure is not an absolute. It is teaching and learning process, and a creative tool.

When we are afraid, fearful of creating, we need to trust in our abilities and skills, our planning and the quality of work.

Turn the fear into a motivating factor. Let it become a driving force.

Turn your fear into excitement. It’s the same chemical in the brain; different interpretation.

Don’t let the fear defeat you.

Summary completed, let’s move on.

When we create we are afraid of failure.

When we create we are afraid of rejection.

If we let the fear of failure consume our creative lives, we become hollow, desolate shells.

Creating anything artistic has within in it a risk of rejection; it is inevitable. It is another aspect of feeling like a failure when a story does not find a publisher, an artwork is rejected for an exhibition or a film is poorly received.

As creative people we feel the emotional knock down of rejection particularly hard. It undermines our ability to create and produce, makes us question our vision and belief in our abilities. Rejection can compound the feeling of failure, a double dose of sucker-punch. Rejection can be demoralising and quench the creative spark that burns within you.

Rejection will happen. It’s how we cope with rejection that will define our creativity. In the face of fear, failure and rejection it is our ability to be resilient, the ability to “bounce back” from adversity and stress.

My writing partner, Jodi Cleghorn, pointed me to this article from The Huffington Post:

“Resilience is practically a prerequisite for creative success, says Kaufman. Doing creative work is often described as a process of failing repeatedly until you find something that sticks, and creatives — at least the successful ones — learn not to take failure so personally.

“Creatives fail and the really good ones fail often,” Forbes contributor Steven Kotler.”

We know we are going to fail and have our work rejected. When we are resilient in the face of failure and rejection we will produce creative works that are more in balance with our ideal world and the real world, closing the gap between expectation and reality.

How can a creative person build resilience in their creative life in the face of fear, failure and rejection?

1. Believe in the skills and talents you have

If you have invested the time into developing, refining and improving your creative skills, trust that you will continue to create good art. 

Always be a learner of your craft. Continually seek ways to improve your writing by writing in a different genre or painting in a different medium. Get feedback from trusted people. 

2. Know the vision you have for your creative work

I created a manifesto to give me vision for the type of stories I want to tell. I  revisit it from time to time as a reminder. One day I will perhaps amend it as my creative journey continues, to reflect the change and development of my work.

3. Set regular goals

The SMART Plan (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Time-framed) is a great way of tracking your progress regardless of rejection. It keeps you focused on producing, not being bogged down by rejection. Every piece of new work is a step closer to achieving and fulfilling your goals.

My goals are worked out month to month. It’s short and specific and allows me flexibility with the demands of my day job. I have a big picture of the next few years of where I want to go and what I want to do, but I allow enough flexibility for change. 

4. Develop a strong creative network

Everyone needs a cheer squad; someone to put on the rah-rah skirt and wave the pom poms when you’re feeling flat, dejected and uninspired. 

I have a small, closed group on Facebook, made up of writers of different shapes and forms and it is a positive environment to seek feedback, preview new work or have a whinge. We live in different parts of Australia but the online connection means we champion each others’ causes.

5. Look for the positives

Whack on a pair rosy coloured glasses, preferably with a Dame Edna vibe to it, and look at your work in a positive light. As a writer it is too easy to look at all the errors when editing rather than see the fantastic sentences or paragraphs surrounding the small errors.

Fear is natural when we are uncertain, in doubt or under stress.

Failure is not a negative experience but a teaching tool. 

Rejection comes with the creative territory if we are putting our work out there for our audience.

Resilience says, “You are a creative individual” and tells you, “You can do it.” It picks you up, often by the scruff of the neck, dusts you off, smacks you on the bum and tells you to, “Get out there and try again.”

How do you develop resilience as a creative person?

Degenerate Dictionary Giveaway – Arsenic: A cut on the bum

Let’s have a bit of fun!
Enter for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card + more!

Degenerate Dictionary stemmed from a party game Jessica Bell’s parents used to play when she was a kid. Her mother and her best friend had so much fun thinking of funny definitions to regular words that they began to write them down. Unfortunately, that little maroon notebook got lost.

But Jessica remembered a couple:

ARSENIC: A cut on the bum.
PROPAGANDA: Having a good look.

In 2013, she began posting these quirky, idiosyncratic, new definitions of familiar words on Twitter and Facebook with the hash tag #Jessicasdictionary.

I  soon chimed in with some of my own:

QUOTIDIAN: one who exclusively uses sayings, proverbs & maxims to update social media status
DIPTHONG: putting your toe into a pool or other body of water to test its temperature

The exchange went back and forth over a few days until Jessica emailed me. The gist of the message was: Would you like to write a dictionary with me?

Me: *brief pause* Yeah!

And so, what once was a party game played by Jessica’s muso parents in the 80s, then became #Jessicasdictionary almost 35 years later, and is now called Degenerate Dictionary and will soon become a BOOK.

Perfect for every school *cough* classroom *cough*. (I am so giving away a class set to my senior English class).

So what’s the GIVEAWAY?

The launch of this project is going great. So Jessica Bell and I are celebrating the speedy progress of Degenerate Dictionary. And we are giving away TWO $20 Amazon gift cards.

Jessica is also throwing in any eBook of hers that you wish to have (i.e. ALL of them if you want them.)
 
There are two ways you can enter:
 
The FUN way:
Write an example sentence using one of our Degenerate Dictionary words and tweet it to @DegDic. The author of the sentence we like best will win a $20 gift card + my books. With your permission, we will also include it in the book when it’s published. With credit of course!
 
Example tweet:
Everyone saw my sparkly string while waiting in the *stationary*. @DegDic Join in to win here: http://ow.ly/uEvA8 #giveaway
 
Note: When you tweet your example sentence, make sure the word in question is inside two asterisks, that the link is included, the #giveaway hash tag is included, and that the @DegDic handle is included. Otherwise we won’t see it. Don’t forget to replace the sentence with your own!
 
The CLINICAL way:
Enter the contest via the rafflecopter below. The winner selected via the rafflecopter will also win a $20 gift card + Jessica’s books.

CLICK HERE TO ENTER THE RAFFLECOPTER.

You may enter both ways to double your chances.

Good luck! Please spread the word!

Why Are Creative People Afraid of Failure?

I am going to say the F-word. It’s not a word we like to hear, nor is it a word we like to use. It exists in our vocabulary but it is very rarely used.

I’m going to say it. Ready?

Failure.

Now, tell me, how do you feel? And remember, this is for posterity, so please, be honest (Thank you, Count Rugen, you six-fingered man of wisdom).

A recurrent refrain is, “I feel like I failed,” said with the tone of negativity intimating it has the finality of death.

I feel like I have failed. I look back over the last year and the first few months of this year and I have failed. I have failed in achieving what I wanted to achieve. I did not meet my writing goals. I did not meet my reading goals. I look over recent writing and now think it stinks worse than the night after a hotdog and baked bean eating contest.

The stereotype of the artistic person as a neurotic, shambolic, ridden-with-fear and afraid of being called a fraud is prevalent in my social media feeds. I see many writers and creative people who declare their insecurities and fears, and I’m no different.

We are afraid of failing.

For example, my collaborative writing partner, Jodi Cleghorn, spoke at her editing workshop, and elaborated on by Delia Strange (How To Stop Hating Your Manuscript) that when you’re editing, you are looking for the faults and problems. It does make you feel like your work is something filthy you’ve stepped in and fit only to be scraped from the bottom of a shoe and discarded. It feels like failure.

The attitude must change.

Recognise the positive attributes of your work, and be aware that you are there to fix the negatives, not be defined by them.

The fear of failure needs to be put to pasture with the myth of the muse.

I see in the students I teach a distinct fear of failure. They would rather not complete a task, therefore failing, rather than attempt the task and risk knowing their work is only worth a Pass. It reinforces their sense of self worth and perception of their ability.

The issue for my students is they cannot see how disciplined effort, feedback and commitment to learning can improve the quality of their work, improve their sense of self worth and individuality.

What constitutes ‘failure’?

Every writer and creative person will define it differently but at the core is a sense of inability to reconcile the imagined world and the real world, seeing the shortfall between the expectation and reality.

Whatever measure you have used against yourself, whether it’s word count, project completion, editing, planning, plotting, the discrepancy between “achieved” and “not achieved” will be interpreted as failure.

What do you do when you feel like you have failed?

Rethink the definition and the perception of what failure is.

When I look at business people and entrepreneurs, their definition of failure is different to that of a stereotypical creative person. They see failure not as an absolute, but as an opportunity.

Failure is always an option. I love seeing it on the Mythbusters t-shirts. Failure is an opportunity for teaching (if you are willing to be taught).

As writers, our characters are faced with failure and disappointment but they learn, or fail to learn from their experience. It is what makes a narrative engaging. Why can’t we learn from our characters and look at our creative endeavours as learning experiences?

Failure is not an absolute.

Failure is teaching and learning process.

Failure is a creative tool.

Let’s start speaking positively about ourselves and understand our failures do not define who we are.

Our perceived failures help us to refine our work, develop our creative skills and in the words of Neil Gaiman, “Create good art.”

It is not our failures that will speak for us but the quality of our creativity.

Fear not.

A Creative Person Teaches People to Listen

Dame Evelyn Glennie is an extraordinary percussionist and gave this insightful TED talk in 2003 (I only came across it recently) in Monterey, California. And she has a beautiful Scottish lilt in her voice.

It has been sitting in the back of my head, slowly composting. As a writer and a drummer, I wanted to find the connection between music and writing, to apply the principles of music to that of writing and creativity, and what it takes for a creative person to teach others to listen.

It’s a long presentation (just over half an hour) so here is the TL;DR version of highlights I picked out.

Evelyn Glennie – How to Truly Listen

One of the first comments she makes is that her job as a musician is all about listening. It is foundational. And it is the same for the writer and the creative person. We listen to stories, to the world around us to inspire and teach us. To teach to listen is to teach people to translate the meaning from their heads and hearts.

I see it as having two parts. The first part is listening as a creative person, listening to the world around you in order that you can create. The second part is the listening by the audience and receivers of your work. We have control over the first part, but not the second.

As a creative person a translation is reading the given text as it is, without adding your own personality to it. It is the technical aspect of reading a piece of music, a novel, a piece of art or film. It is absorbed as data, fact, neutral information.

Evelyn points out that the literal translation of the music will only take you so far. It requires an interpretation.

For a creative person to interpret we assimilate the raw data and begin to synthesise it through the lens of our values and beliefs, gender, perspectives to create. We assimilate and synthesise through listening. Listening to ourselves.

But how do we listen?

Evelyn is profoundly deaf, and has written about her deafness. She says, “I hear it thr0ugh my ears. And through my hands, feet, stomach, cheeks, every part of my body. Listening through the walls; listening far more broadly than simply the ears.”

She goes on to ask the audience, “When you clap, what do you use? Just your hands? How about your body, the floor, thighs, jewellery? Experimentation = improvisation.”

It is about learning how to listen with a different set of “ears.”

As a percussionist, Evelyn uses a range of different sticks. They produce different sound colours. It depends on the weight of the stick, the type of head (rubber, woollen, wooden) and produce different sound colours. They are the tools to allow her to interpret the music and can be likened to our own likes, dislikes, personality, temperament, culture.

As the percussionist uses drumsticks as a tool, what tools do we use to produce our art? How do we use them? To what effect?

Performing a piece on the glockenspiel, Evelyn points out the resonators beneath the instrument. Their purpose is to amplify the sound made. She comments that we are all connected to sound and become a participator in the sound. What the eye sees, sound is happening, being imagined. We are all participators of sound. When we listen, listen carefully, we become the resonators and participators.

As writers or creative people we listen to be able to say something through our creativity. To create a piece of art where the reader and participator experiences the whole of the sound, in the entirety of the journey from the breath to the striking or plucking of the instrument to make sound; in the reading of a novel, watching of a film, appreciating a piece of art.

A creative person teaches someone to listen. First they listen to the text they are reading before it is internalised and filtered. Then they can hear what we are saying through our art.

Superhero Saturday – Flash Fiction

Yesterday I was teaching my Year 7s (the first year of high school in Australia) Creative Writing. They are a learning enhanced class which means there are a range of intellectual and learning disabilities. 

We were learning the structure of a story, using the primary school method of Orientation, Complication, Events and Resolution (O.C.E.R.). It works for any writer really; it’s the fundamental structure to any scene whether it’s for a short story or a novel.

I gave them an opening line, “I had my costume all planned out; I was going to be a superhero” and after a brief planning session, they were set to work. While they wrote theirs, I plugged my laptop into the data projector and wrote my own. It’s best practice to model what you’re after.

It’s far from perfect but it showed my students what to do. 

So here it is for your… pleasure… or interest… or something.

SUPERHERO SATURDAY

I had my costume all planned out; I was going to be a superhero. Sitting on my bed I could see it hanging from the wardrobe door. It was a spectacular outfit: black tights with red lightning bolts down the outside of the legs, a red t-shirt with a black lightning bolt on the front and the bestest cape ever. My Mum made it for me.

I am Super B. I seek to right the wrongs, make this world a safer place, and have doughnuts for afternoon tea.

Once Mum let me outside to play, I put on my costume and hit the streets of our cul-de-sac, ready to be the hero. It was a quiet afternoon; only the neighbour’s dog, Scruffy, was outside the fence so I put him back.

I felt pretty good having done my helpful deed for the day. Standing on the footpath I put my hands on my hips and held my best superhero pose. But there was no wind to make my cape fly out behind me so I felt a bit silly.

Was there no other good deed to do today? Not much of a superhero if you only get to do one good deed.

There was a squeal from up the street and the rattle of plastic trike tyres on the footpath. Mrs Jenkins from Number 96 was yelling as her little Patty went hurtling down the footpath on her runaway tricycle.

Patty’s feet were blurry circles as the pedals span faster and faster, threatening to throw her off. Her tiny mouth formed the biggest “O” I’d ever seen and from it came the loudest scream, enough to scare the cat!

This is my chance, I thought. I can be the hero!

I twirled my cape and ran towards little Patty, before she became patty-cake all over the footpath. Putting my feet in the brace position and crouching down I readied myself for impact. Patty came closer, the screaming louder and louder. She was almost on top of me when I stepped to the side, swung my arm around Patty’s waist and lifted her to safety. The tricycle careened off the footpath and into the gum tree outside my house. I expected the tricycle to burst into flames. But it didn’t.

Mrs Jenkins stopped right in front of me, gasping for air.

“Thank you so much,” she said as Patty jumped into her open arms. “You’re such a hero for saving my little Patty Cake.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.

“Come inside and have a biscuit,” Mrs Jenkins said. “You deserve something for your brave actions.”

“Thank you, Mrs Jenkins,” I said. A superhero always remembers his manners.

Mrs Jenkins fed me choc chip biscuits. She insisted I have two, and on my way out the door, she gave me one more.

Walking home I felt pretty darn good. I wiped the biscuit crumbs from my mouth, I didn’t want Mum to think I’d filled my tummy before dinner, and wondered what adventures Super B might have tomorrow.

I stood in our driveway, struck a superhero pose and thankfully there was a breeze to make my cape billow out. I surveyed the cul-de-sac and knew it was safe. It was good to be a superhero.

Lessons Learned From Post It Note Poetry

A month of #postitnotepoetry has elapsed and 28 poems have been written and posted.

It started in 2013 when Jodi Cleghorn and I threw out some whimsical ideas with definite boundaries: write a poem to fit on a Post It Note.

It was permission to write; write dreadfully, write with abandon, write without caring what the poetry sounded like. It was permission to be creative and spontaneous; limited and restrictive in a positive way.

And we did it. We gathered adherents and spawned a community. We wrote poems and posted them. And some of them were quite good.

And we did it again this year.

I wrote 28 poems in 29 days (the last week of February was a cracker for me so I missed a day or two, posted late, crammed a few into one day and wrote the last on March 1 after half writing it the night before).

Time to reflect, look into the Navel of Introspection and see if I can find a gem to inspire you. At the very least you’ll have some blue-grey lint to take home.

1. I can write every day (but it wears me down)

Some writers pursue the notion that they must write every day. It is an adage recounted by many writers via social media, and it has validity. I like the Jerry Seinfeld approach of ticking off each day I write or meet a quota, forming an unbroken chain.

But it doesn’t work for me. My day job and other commitments do not allow an unbroken chain. I prefer to work in short bursts rather than long periods of focused attention.

Every creative person has their own cycles of inspiration, creation, recreation, restoration, production. Rinse and repeat.

Find your own rhythm and know your cycles.

2. I can think of a new idea every day (but some need more time to develop)

Finding a new idea each day was in turns easy and difficult. It was in the news, something I read, an emotional response to a situation, daily chores or activities.

The execution of the idea was also in turns easy and difficult. The easy idea was sometimes difficult to write while the difficult idea sometimes can easy in the writing.

No method, often madness; always an idea.

Exhaustion, physical and mental, made developing an idea hard. Some ideas needed more time for composting (what I mean when an ideas sits in the back of your head for a while). For example, the last poem, Frankenstein’s Classroom, needed more time for refinement.

However, that runs contrary to the spirit of Post It Note Poetry.

Pushing an idea that is not fully formed may result in a piece of work that is substandard and editing will only highlight its weaknesses. Letting an idea form over time may mean the editing is easier. Your mileage may vary.

There are plenty of ideas out there for you to catch. Know your methods for trapping them in the pages of your notebook (physical or digital).

3. It’s a whole lot of fun to do (but it detracts from my main purpose)

Creativity is meant to be fun; that was the point initially. There is fun in the hunting down of ideas, capturing the thoughts and emotional response in words, and satisfaction in the completion.

And in doing something fun, I have found a new appreciation for poetry and I like writing it. I like the framework and boundaries a Post It Note provides, similar to the framework and limitations on twitter where I also post short poetry.

However, focused for a month on writing poetry has taken me away from my main purpose of writing my novella. The timing of #postitnotepoetry coincides with the beginning of the school year (I am a high school English teacher) and it is something short I can do during the busyness of the opening of the school year.

I want to return to my novella, which is happily composting in the back of my head while I make updated notes in my notebook. I’m also in the last stages of edits for my collaborative novel.

The brevity of Post It Note Poetry is something I will continue to do throughout the year because I believe in developing my creativity; I am undecided if I will return in 2015 for the trifecta.

Have fun with your creative acts.

That’s it from me for #postitnotepoetry 2014.

Time to buy shares in the company that makes Post It Notes or see if I can get a sponsorship from them and turn it all into a book deal.