Am I a Writer Now?

I wrote something! Me. I. Carly. I wrote something, finally! Does that make me a writer now?

Why do we humans like to bugger about looking for reasons to not do the things we like? Suddenly there were all kinda of chores I decided had to be done before I actually got started on the new exercise I designed for myself – putting clothes away, cleaning the bin lid, washing-up. Then I was too hot. Then I was hungry. Then thirsty. Then I just had to make sure I had a nice new shiny Facebook page set up (see CLR Poetry) and  invited lots of people to see the zero posts I had on there.

Earlier, whilst eating breakfast, I’d cut up some paper into little rectangles and on each wrote down a name of the 100 or so poems I’d whittled down from my old collection (as mentioned in I’m a Poet and I Didn’t Know It). A few initials so I knew which folder each one was in and then I folded them up whilst listening to instrumental tributes to my favourite rock bands and mixed them up in a jar.

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A beginning… hopefully…

The idea is to pick out one title each day and work on that poem. So that’s what I did. I pulled out ‘T-shirt’ from the ‘Some Good Ideas’ folder. Ugh. Not the best to make my debut but, that’s the game.

The original idea for this poem was that of use and abuse of clothing, with possible connotations to my teenage mind at the time. During rewriting I wanted to keep that connection and used some of the language already in the draft to expand the idea. My initial reaction to some of these words was ‘serial killer’ – very likely due to the fact that Jon and I are 6 seasons into a Dexter binge on Netflix. Stalk, fondle, drown, discard; all images I played with. Using the idea of the t-shirt being a cowering woman it didn’t take long to jot down and rearrange some ideas. It all happened embarrassingly quickly actually. I questioned the poem a few times for it’s authenticity. A throw back from my Creative Writing degree I suppose.

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Writingness!

You may have been wondering why there’s been such a gap in my writing. I comes down to two things – desire and confidence; you can’t have one without the other. I had some very supportive tutors, and peers, who helped me sculpt my writing. In my final year, when my assignments were getting the only first class grades of my degree (I got a 2:1 overall in BA (hons) Drama and Creative Writing), we had a male teacher.  Not that the fact he was a man means anything, that’s just my chosen adjective. I can’t even remember his name. Even though we were always told ‘there’s no set way to write’and ‘the rules are really guidelines’ etc, etc, he always tore my work to pieces. Even after I edited holes into the paper he never liked my work and erased my spirit.

I had to ignore the disclaimers. Poetry is art and art is an expression of life. Here is my poem, layered with meaning, expressing an idea of a life. I hope you like it.

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