Writers, How Do You Feel About This?

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If you mention that you are a writer to someone, and they ask you what you write about, or want details about your work, how do you feel? I tend to get annoyed, because I have found that discussing my work is a sure fire way to kill it. Don't know why, but unless it is a prospective publisher, I have decided to keep it under wraps.

My biggest problem is discussing it and then, it's like I already did it, and it doesn't have to be churned out and put on the page.
I shoot myself in the foot when I talk about it before I do it, and when someone wants to talk about it after I do it, I get irritated it they make any suggestions because I have some idea it won't be TRUE to my intentions. sheesh. real prickley about my writing.

Merle

Herkenning

De leegte van mijn ziel
heeft nu eindelijk
een vorm gevonden -
een vorm die ik kan
noemen.

De vorm die ik kan
noemen has soms haat
geheten. Ik vergiste me,
maar gisteren - te laat
natuurlijk -

gisteren is altijd te laat -
maar gisteren heb ik mijn
ziel gevonden - jij hebt mij
de norm gezonden.

De norm gezonden die de
vorm had van een vuist,
zoals die in mijn kamer
huist, de vorm die juist
mijn maag en lager trof.

Mijn maag en lager,
lager ook, ja toch zeker,
en de pijn was noembaar.
De pijn had plaats en postuur.

De plaats en het postuur
van een schaduw om de
hoek, een silhouette met
slagkracht. Even dacht ik:
jij! Vergissen kan gewoonte
worden,

kan gewoonte worden,
missen wordt dat nooit, nee,
gemis vreet zich een plaats
in de ziel, van binnenuit als
een gezwel.

Een gezwel van leegte,
dat nu eindelijk een vorm
gevonden heeft - ik weet
nu dat je in me leeft.

In me leeft jouw omtrek,
groeiend als een hongerige
foetus, verwekt door jouw
vertrek. Als jij je plaats
niet spoedig vult,

niet spoedig vult, dan zal
ik sterven, weggeten door
een leegte die ik nooit
zal kunnen baren zonder
mezelf te derven.

Mezelf te derven in het
kraambed van een tragisch
wonder: de geboorte van een
leegte, van een tweede
jij,

een tweede jij die naast de
eerste leeg moet zijn, die
door mijn schaal zal breken,
die ik door mijn schaal
hoor spreken al.


Pm (1980)

published by & (c) 2009: =iii=iiiE oblio iii ]iii=iii=
text styled as first print by De Zwarte Madonna,
Rotterdam, Netherland (1983)


work in progress: UNDER TRANSLATION


Recognition

The void of my soul
has now finally
found a form -
a form which I may
name .

The form which I may
name had at times been
called forth hatred I guessed,
but yesterday - too late
of course -

yesterday is always too late -
but yesterday i have found
my soul - you have sent me
the norm.

Sent me the norm with the
form it has of a fist, like the
one that hangs on my wall,
the form which did right there
in the gut, and lower did hit.

The gut and lower did hit,
lower as well, naturally and
the pain came to be identified.
The pain took place and posture.

The place and the posture
of a shadow around the
corner, a silhouette with
striking force. At once the sight
of you! i guess amiss may turn
habitual,

may become habitual,
missing never does, no, a
lacking eats itself its place
inside the soul, from within,
like a swelling.

Like a swelling abstracted,
which now finally a form
has found - now I am aware
of you in me live.

In me lives your circumference,
growing like a hungry
phoetus, begot by your
departure. If you don't soon
will take your place,

not soon take place, then will
I die, eaten away by
a void which I shall never
be able to bear without
my self deprivation.

My self to deprive me in
the berth of a tragical
wonder: the bearing of a
void, of a second
you,

a second you which aside the
first needs be abstracted, which
through my chalk shall break,
which i can through my shell
hear speak and all.


Pm (1980)


published by & (c) 2009: =iii=iiiE oblio iii ]iii=iii=
text styled as first print by De Zwarte Madonna
translation: (c)2009: oblio(.iii) // aspiciously13

I told my parents that I was writing a book, last year. They started nagging to read it and asking if it's finished yet. It's spoilt now, I'm never going to be able to finish it. I like writing for ME, not for other people.

That's exactly how I am. I just had my therapist ask me what I am writing about. I told him that if I talk about it, it won't be completed, and he seemed puzzled by this. I wasted money on a course in writing, and found that it just wasn't geared to the way my brain works. If I were to listen to the so called "experts," my writing would be so generic as to be unrecognizable even by myself.

I have natural trouble finishing my work, but talking about what I'm writing's not the reason why. I tend to get some good plot-based impressions from talking it over with people, and to be perfectly honest I hammer out future details on the fly based on what seems to entertain whoever I'm talking to. Not that I'd admit it when I do it!

I think it's best to write in bite sized portions, then read those out to people interested. I can gauge reactions, satisfy inquiring minds, get some early peer reviews and be the center of attention, all at once! Writing rocks.

amen, Sistah! Exactly! and they act as if that is what you wanted to do, conform!

Merle

Glad you agree, Merle!