Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Twirl and Swirl

I frequently get asked where my general purpose user name, "twirlandswirl," comes from.  I usually flippantly answer, "oh, some poem," because saying I wrote it makes me feel like a teenager in a dark corner with a sketch book and a can of Red Bull.  But, fact of the matter is, it IS a poem I wrote, and it's probably the single piece of work I've created that I'm most proud of.  I'm not saying it is by any means "perfect," but I read it, and I feel exactly what I felt when I wrote it.  It stirs in me exactly what I aimed for it to relate to the reader, and, in that respect, I believe it is a success.  I wrote it in high school, and have made precious few revisions in the decade since.

I don't expect everyone to like it.  I don't expect ANYONE to like it, per se.  I'm not looking for people to assuage my ego, and don't want anyone to feel obligated to leave any feedback whatsoever.  (Do feel free to!  But I'm not fishing for compliments or anything.)  But, as I keep getting asked just where it is twirlandswirl comes from, I thought I would supply a more thorough answer.

My world is cloaked in the darkness only the dead of night can bring
Over my head hang a thousand tiny worlds, unknown to those who dwell here
Pinpoints of light, as numerous as the grains of sand on a paradise beach
Dance the eternal dance of years gone by
My heart yearns to be among them
To join in, and learn the steps that only time can teach
I feel so misplaced on this cold, hard chunk called Earth
My spirit longs to be away
To soar higher than mortal men have dared to dream
To brush the sky with wings of light
To twirl and swirl and loose myself
Feel my body enveloped by the very fabric of time and space
I long to work my fingers through the threads that hold the Universe together
Have the secrets of infinity whispered into my ears by beings I cannot even comprehend
And be at home, finally home
Away from fear, doubt, and the chains that hold me here
Finally free, finally among the stars

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Writing, or, How Twirly Fails at Titling Posts

I need to write more.

I'm not sure there's enough emphasis on the imperative here.  I'm not saying, "gee, I really SHOULD write more."  I'm not saying I NEED to write int he same way I NEEDED that piece of cheesecake I snuck yesterday.  I'm very blatantly saying I NEED to write more, in the same way I need air and water and food.  I'm dying without it... emotionally, if not physically.

For so much of my life, writing defined who I was.  It put my overactive imagination to use and gave it an outlet to keep my head from exploding.  Over the last several years, I feel like I've beaten that muse out of myself - I don't know how or why, and it wasn't really intentional, but through self-censorship and, to be honest, some laziness, my creative spark is definitely in critical condition.

A few days ago, I had what I've referred to since as a "plotlette" pop into my head.  It's not really an idea, because it's pretty concrete, and it's not quite a plot of its own.  It's a quote, really - or more of an exchange.  It's short and concise and maybe fifteen words long, but I feel it tells a story in those few words.  Perhaps more importantly, I feel it creates a thirst for MORE story.  It leaves layers upon layers of QUESTIONS, and they've been rolling around in my head for days, teasing my imagination and coaxing my muse out of hibernation.

The obvious choice, to me at least, is that I attempt to win NaNoWrimo in November for the first time.  I've had... 2? 3? 4? attempts, but only one even made a decent show of it, until the end of the semester (and, for me, the end of the course of my undergraduate university studies) derailed my efforts.  I haven't even attempted for the last few years, though the desire to complete the challenge has never left me.  I didn't connect to the local writers or general modus operandi of the group in Orlando the way I did in Gainesville, but I'm willing to give it another try.

The inherent problem with this, however, is that it's barely mid-September.  I fear that if I suppress this urge I've finally rekindled for another 8 weeks, I may kill it off again.  But, if I start it too early, I can’t use it for NaNo and may lose my motivation for THAT, then.  However... nothing is stopping me from writing something ELSE every day.  I’ll stretch my literary muscles!  And I’m not limited to fiction... I can write blog entries, poetry, commentary, reviews... anything I want!  I might accidentally start doing it all the time again!  That would certainly beat incessant Facebook statuses and my daily string of tweets....

My "Idea Generator" seems to have run out of steam, however, and I could definitely use some ideas, or directions to some resources, on that front, however.  I think I'm going to set an initial goal of 1000 words a day.  1000 words of anything with a coherent purpose... blog entries, letters, poems, short stories, etc.  Blurbs aren't going to count... I need to set some standards!  But when 1000 words gets easy, 1500 will soon after, and so on.

Let’s reinvent ourselves through writing, shall we?

PS - This was 587 words.  Good start, Self!