So I’ve been posting draft poems so far this year. As I admitted last week, they’re not very good. So this week I opted to write out my first draft on paper (see image) so that I could make revisions as I went. I purposefully did not erase text but rather crossed it out so that it was still discernible so that I could see my thought process.
It’s still not a great poem, but I think it’s better. Putting it down on paper made me think more about my word choices than if I had the unlimited virtual page in front of me.
I don’t know if that would work for me with longer pieces. The thought of writing a novel longhand makes me slightly ill. However, I could write out stories and scenes/chapters that were problematic so that I could see the work differently. It was also easier to isolate myself and eliminate distractions if I was working on paper.
Revisions Are Not Optional
Yes, that’s restating my original point, but I don’t want people to miss it. If you think you can write a perfect draft first time through, you’re wrong. If you think you can craft an acceptable draft the first time through, I’ll contend you’re still wrong.
Every piece of writing needs revisions.
Every piece of writing can be made better.
Your writing is not an exception to this.
Quick reminder if you missed the first week’s post:
- I’m using the Storymatic for writing prompts
- Posting new words on Mondays for people playing at home
- Previous week’s poem also posted on Monday
- At the beginning of the next month we’ll take a vote on which poem to revise for a small collection at the end of the year
My Prompt for Next Week
- Person who should not be in charge
- Broken bone
My Poem from Last Week
Between odd fellows
One, a scholar
The other, a dropout
But the bond between
Jibes, taunts, ridicule, curses, pushes, threats
It’s almost too much to bear
But the words really aren’t there to console
With cap and gown
Only one attends
Continues on the scholar’s path
There are few options
For the dropout
Watches his friend leave
And puts his back into his labors
The bond between them not broken
But communication withers
Drops into the deep hibernation of winter
Marked by more ceremonies for one
Children and wives for the other
Despite his success
The scholar struggles
Can’t outstrip the razor’s sting of memory
Not a phone call
When the hour is past polite conversation
The night is pleasant
They enjoy a walk in the night air
The words still aren’t there for the dropout
Made worse by lack of common interests
But the scholar sees
His friend is content and satisfied
In ways he can never be