Yesterday I started "NaNoWriMo," along with numerous other friends and every member of my family (yay!). I won't be writing a traditional novel--I'll mostly be writing on my dissertation with some essays and blogposts along the way. I already write hundreds of words per day, so this is an experiment in seeing if aiming for a particular word count is any more satisfying than my usual methods.
A few weeks ago when I was hanging out in the Tattered Cover bookstore and was overwhelmed by its vast selection, I got discouraged. Surely the world already has plenty of novels and poems and books of history...but I am moving forward with my writings anyways, all the while hoping that the universe won't begrudge me the opportunity to tell my stories.
So today's poem is about writing, as an inspiration to all of you poets and novelists out there.
An excerpt from "Everything" by Mary Oliver
I want to write with quiet hands. I
want to write while crossing fields that are
fresh with daisies and everlasting and the
ordinary grass...let them be
songs in which nothing is neglected,
not a hope, not a promise. I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable. I want them to honor
both the heart of faith, and the light of the world;
the gladness that says, without any words, everything.