The Worst Enemy to Creativity

"And By the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath 80 years later-

Today is the birthday of Sylvia Plath. Plath is perhaps one of the first poet that caught my attention in such a way to interest me in poetry as an avocation. There were poets who I found interesting prior to Plath (Frost for example comes to my mind) but it was Plath that first really spoke to me about the power of language in such a way that I wanted to experience first hand that rich trans-formative process that occurs when one's mind and soul battle in an inner discourse to find the right words for the page.

Ted Hughes once said (and I'm paraphrasing here) that he believes she never failed to finish a poem. She may have started with one idea and ended up somewhere else entirely (who hasn't) but she was seriously driven to by her writing. From biographies and her own journals I know that she was constantly alert to the world around her for - looking for material for her next poem.  I believe this was very much a part of her brilliance. I would say that she lived a poet's life; always a poet in the moment. I believe this is one positive  lesson that writers can take from Sylvia's life.

Imagine-

"There was a time
only certainty gave me
any joy. Imagine -
certainty, a dead thing ."

Louise Gluck  -  Ripe Peach - from The Seven Ages winner of the Bollingen Prize 

Orange October

Hofstra Debate

There we were captives
caught in the vice of heated debate
over our future -

Two grown men-
more or less- and Candy
Crowley in a smack down.

If I even considered going for the frig
or my singing bladder
that all ended in spontaneous intrigue

as Mitt's secret weapon was unveiled
to millions of Americans.  Take that Mr. President!
Do you have binders of women?

Confession Tuesday - Loitering Edition

Dear Reader:

It's Tuesday and I'm going to pull over and quickly unload my confession. It's been one week and I don't exactly know where this is going but I hope I'm not going to be impound.

I confess that I will be one of those watching the Presidential Debate tonight. I also confess that I am not among the undecided. There probably isn't much either candidate could do to change my mind at this point. These two candidates are going to govern from such opposing philosophical views that the decision is not even a close one. I could talk about those and maybe I will between now and the election but I'd rather keep politics out of the confessional. ;)

I've been working with a writing coach for the past three weeks now.  While I've been putting in more writing time it occurred that I have been journaling less. I confess I don't know if this is good or bad. It's at least good that I'm writing more.

My phone has been giving me fits lately. It's a Blackberry and I've had it for quite some time. I've gotten a lot of good out of it but I have actually thought that wen I replace it I might try an iPhone  I confess I've never been excited about iPhone  There is no craze here. One of the few things that I dislike about my Blackberry is that I can't use Instagram.  But there are other options I know. In fact my daughter Meghan switched to a Galaxy III and I admit I've watched a lot of commercial feeds on this phone and quite frankly it's awesome. I confess that I don't care for the thickness of it. It seems perilously fragile but then the iPhone seems that way too.

My Giants were awesome in the Red's series. After falling behind 2 games to none at home they traveled to Cincinnati and needing to will three in a row they did just that. I confess I believe they can take the Cardinals and win the NLCS. This team has a lot of young talent that just doesn't ever stop believing. They are split a game each as they move the St Louis to play game three tomorrow.

Well, it's about time for the debate and I haven't been ticketed and towed yet so I gonna split.

The Mag: Paranormal

Midnight Snack - Curtis Wilson Coast - 1984

The stomach pings

which I ignore. I can

stumble over time 
lost in quiet darkness.
But when the growl comes
heat engulfs the region;
I sit up in flames of hunger.
The body answers 
where the mind holds back.
A light switch finds my hand.
The kitchen acknowledges me
but I will wake in the morning
and know nothing of this.



Michael A. Wells


The Mag 139