Thanks, Day 57

Today, I’m thankful for two artists specifically, as they both, in some way, inspired me to write poetry for the first time in years. Those artists are friend and poet, Jeremy Ritch and the late, great Harold Ramis. I’ve been reading Jeremy’s work for awhile and his honesty (even when it makes me want to shake him, yell at him, or argue with him) is inspiring. Ramis just passed away and one of the pieces I read on him said something like, “Ramis is gone, but the art he left us will never go away.” This made me think that maybe I should make a point to pick up the pen whenever I get the itch and not be too lazy/unmotivated/whatever.

So, here’s a poem about being thankful. I have two others I am finalizing to post on my arts & culture website about motivation and addiction, respectively. This poem is about my wife… It’s short and simple but I’d like to think it’s a bit more mature than the sappy, emo stuff I wrote for her in college.

“Where the Heart Is”

Every day that I go to work,
I thank God that I come home to you.

Every time I hear of unloving marriages,
I thank God that I come home to you.

Every time that I feel stressed and unmotivated,
I thank God that I come home to you.

No matter where “home” is,
I thank God that I come home to you.

I may flush this out more and expand on it, but for now… there it is… my first fresh poem in a LONG time.

I Write, Therefore I Am?

I’ve always fancied myself a writer. At a shade over 30, living in the technological age, I’ve had the chance to write in various mediums. I’ve served as a senior writer and editor on multiple websites. I’ve blogged on and off for a decade. I’ve self published numerous zines. I’ve published some articles. I’ve begun (but never finished) multiple novellas and short stories…

But I’m not a writer, really… at least, not yet. In order to be a writer, like a REAL WRITER, I need some discipline, some motivation, and something real to say.

So, maybe I need to shit or get off the pot, right? I’ve got random stories from work in the prison system. I’ve got random stories from promoting and attending hundreds of concerts. I’ve got random stories from being a dad…

But, where is my direction? Do I finish that zombie novel/novella that I began years ago or is that genre just too damn inundated now? I’ve flirted with storyboarding that and having a friend draw it up as a graphic novel, which feels more appropriate for that story. Do I actually get working on the research for the book project that I’ve been talking about with a Jersey punk scene friend for over a year? I’m not sure why, but that’s not inspiring to me at the moment (though I am certain that we will write that book, as it needs to be written). So, which project is right for me now?

I ask this question, but I know the answer. It’s my Dubliners, my Joycian short story collection. There are several half written stories and numerous frameworks that are all based on some twisted notion of the American dream. The star crossed lover from a poor neighborhood in Wilkes Barre, the former civil servant pinched in a child pornography sting, the Vegan straight edge girl from the city who secretly yearns to be a high class prostitute, the transgender inmate who rots in a cell for the horrific decisions he (or she) made before landing there… these are not happy stories, but they are all based on something real. These stories are where I’m supposed to go from here.

Now the question becomes, will I actually work my strange compendium into existence? Will I find ways to find time for this work into my upcoming coursework, the blogs I write, and the other things that sidetrack me?