Momentum of the Muse

1. Fake pregnancy.

So, yeah. Just kidding! I’m clearly the type of person who panics and takes the easy way out. But I’m trying to cleanse my soul, at least a little, so FYI, I am not and was not pregnant.

Just a lowly coward, ashamed of not reaching my 17th installment.

While I’m at it, screw you, too, NaNoWriMo! You can kiss my adorable ass!

Wow, long awaited. Part 3 of the Construction of True Literature. In Part 1 I showed how I used freewriting to plant the seed of a poem. In Part 2, I discussed meaning, and how there should be some story, some meaning behind any piece of true literature. It does not necessarily matter what that specific meaning is, so long as it is draped in obscurity to the point it becomes nonsense. Now, for Part 3 – finalizing and editing, cementing that piece of True Literature.

Here is my final product, followed by the editing that occured for it to come into existence in it’s final form.

tomorrow trouble is springing back into town.

She’s got her paws on the floor and she’s poised, ready to riot, ready to pounce.

A pair of pig tails, a swagger and a school girl gleam,

we got into the theme with no patience or discretion to spare.

Raw rationality in the heart beating, the greed gleaming over all the ill-gotten gains

we hoarded before, our grins wide with teeth bared,

knuckles braised naughty and sore. Bags swinging malignant and more menacing,

our approach to encroach upon all perceptions of deception,

the lesson to flex some roach-like resilience, the taste of your brilliance, rolling down and over,

far-flung in the mix, the messiest chicks,

so blond and far gone they bleed vinegar and vice,

fingers suck at your skin, a ten-set of lice.

You turn the corner, and before he can warn her, she’s got black-satin-spice to hold in and adorn her,

all matte and eyes flat, as alert as a cat, crouched under couch, tail wound fully cocked,

chest round and pressed to the ground. A vixen throws bricks, shooting the moon of it’s pets,

little pests to crawl clinging up sweaters with vests, and

upturned eyes that decry, of course darling, you’re the best.

I climb as careful as two birds dancing on one stone – the bones are more brittle, I know.

The flush of the thrush flying right up my neck, and I pause,

not caught, but hot for the draw of a lone broken moan.

Now, essentially, the techniques used here are spacing and delete key. I spaced the free write out randomly, and then deleted three words. Two of them were “so” and one was “shooting.” The deletion of “so” was actually practical, for good writing. I have a problem; peppering my sentence beginnings with “So” and “Anyways” and “Well” and “But.” The trick is figuring out which words are unnecessary, superfluous, extra padding with no purpose, extraneous,  redundant – you know what I mean. Then chop them out. Some writer somewhere in some quote once said that a very high percentage of what you write is likely meant to be thrown away. Something like “Write a 100% and then leave only 20%. Then you will be left with all the best stuff.” This is an inexact quote, but it is mostly true. Except in my case, and likely yours. Ours will be perfect with only three words taken out.

This is the final segment in my three part series. If you have anything you would like to contribute – feedback, questions, unending praise – then please do in the comments section.