I began the poetry section of 249A at Mesa University not having written poetry since high school, which took place approximately one hundred years after the extinction of the dinosaurs, or so it feels.  While I do enjoy reading the odd poem by Edgar Allen Poe or Shel Silverstein (I like to keep my options open), it isn’t something that I’ve given much thought to writing since the last time it was assigned to me.

Understandably, the idea of trying to write and share something with my fellow students who very likely have far more, or at least far more recent, experience than I do was a little daunting. However, I did end up enjoying the process more than I thought that I would. 

Unfortunately, and this was my aversion to the art from the beginning, I am not very good at writing within the bounds of preset structure.  That is to say, I am far too stubborn and set in my ways to enjoy counting syllables or searching for an adequate rhyme.  I did, however, lean into free verse poetry. I enjoyed the process of painting short word vignettes; it allowed me to express a singular idea without having to connect it to anything broader, like I do when I write stories.  I found a great deal of enjoyment in answering prompts. While I found myself not writing exactly the intended meaning, it challenged me to put a piece of myself into everything I wrote, no matter how big or small.

I do believe that I grew in this area, in no small part because I hadn’t thought to stretch the muscle in so long that I’d forgotten I even had it. It is something that I intend to stick with, even if it’s just jotting down a few sentences here and there.  There’s something very comforting in translating a singular moment of my life and being able to look back on it again weeks, or years later.

The most difficult thing that I found when writing short stories is adhering to a word count. Much like poetry, I am not particularly disciplined when it comes to writing on someone else’s terms.  It somehow seemed like I was always either about fifty words short or a thousand words too long.

I am the first to admit that I suffer from the innate narcissism that I’ve found present in most writers whom I’ve had the privilege of knowing.  I believe that I know what is best for my stories, and at times, criticism or rules of submission fall on deaf ears.  My first draft of Tripping the Light Fantastic was a few hundred words short of five thousand, and, at first, second, and third pass, I was really unwilling to part with a single syllable.  Unfortunately, that isn’t how the world works, and it certainly isn’t how this class works, and, reading it as it’s published now, I have to admit that it is much better than the original.

Creative Writing 249A has definitely been an exercise in restraint, and I think that I’ve learned a lot from it.  To begin with, it’s the first time that I’ve shared any of my writing in more than a decade, so having to swallow that sour pill certainly helped.  As it turns out I’m writing for an audience of—an audience, not just me.  One thing that I am certainly taking away from the class is this website, which I intend to continue to post to, even if no one ever reads it again. The act of sharing my writing has helped me as much as the deadlines to write have. It’s more difficult to procrastinate when I have a due date.  Which is likely why I’ll never be a journalist.

My hope is that some of the students from this class may check in here every once in a while when they’re really, really bored. I would appreciate the ongoing feedback as much as I appreciated the feedback in class.