deleting, starting over, deleting...

[hmmnmm]

It's a problem. Don't know why. Probably don't want to know why. Get in a mood, make the mistake of looking back, and seeing that everything sucks, and then do a mass deletion, decide that I'll never get anywhere or make anything that doesn't suck. A bit of time passes - sometimes a few months, sometimes a few days - and I get interested again, wish I'd not deleted everything, start to work on new stuff, rework old stuff, start to submit and resubmit. Never fails: a mood comes along, make the mistake of looking back, see that it all sucks; another mass deletion, and the cycle starts over, over and over and over. Not looking for easy answers or anything; just spilling. I don't think there is an answer - I'm glad Lit allows deletions, but I wish I could make peace with understanding that a writer/poet can have good days and bad days and make a work that sucks and sometimes doesn't suck, and there's always plenty to learn, and really, Lit has a great setup for the aspirant wordsmith to go in just about any direction the spirit happens to lead. Am I totally fucked up?

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

No, you're not fucked up - just in a slump. I've done exactly what you've described, more than once and, just like you, regretted it. I believe every poem has a core worth protecting so even if you remove your poems from here keep them safe in your files plus back them up to be safe. The cycle will revolve and you muse will stir once more. Courage mon brave!

 

[hmmnmm]

No, you're not fucked up - just in a slump. I've done exactly what you've described, more than once and, just like you, regretted it. I believe every poem has a core worth protecting so even if you remove your poems from here keep them safe in your files plus back them up to be safe. The cycle will revolve and you muse will stir once more. Courage mon brave!

Yeah there ya go. Regret it but do it again. And again. Regret and do it again. Tell ya Tess, never have I found a site that had this push-pull, in-out, do-don't effect as this one. One day it's: hey just plunge headfirst all the way and don't worry where it goes. Stay with Lit. Get into it. Get into it deep. Forget everything else. Good poems/stories? Crappy poems.stories? Don't worry about it. Just quit worrying about it. Another: no, this is not it, not you, you're not it, you're no poet, no writer, so much you don't know, can't do, all that you still have to learn, it's a mountain you'll never surmount.... why are you expending so much time here, doing this? Delete all poems/stories. The next day/week/month: actually, this is really a great venue for the writer/poet, whether crappy or brillant - really the range is wide. Round and round and round it goes. Again and again and again.

 

[Koba]

Life is more like a sine curve than a straight line or a circle.

When I try to force poetry out, I write crap. And I must have an idea of where it is going. Last week I spent five days on a poem. I must have rewrote every line a hundred times. I was appalled at how bad it was. Then I had a moment of inspiration which persuaded me to throw 90% of it away and build on the base. Before the day was out I had a poem that I was very pleased with.

 

[Maria2394]

No, you're not fucked up - just in a slump. I've done exactly what you've described, more than once and, just like you, regretted it. I believe every poem has a core worth protecting so even if you remove your poems from here keep them safe in your files plus back them up to be safe. The cycle will revolve and you muse will stir once more. Courage mon brave!

I have done it too. A couple of times. don't kick yourself, just remember what Tess said, all your work is worth keeping so at least you can see how much you have grown along the years.

 

[Tzara]

It's a problem. Don't know why. Probably don't want to know why. Get in a mood, make the mistake of looking back, and seeing that everything sucks, and then do a mass deletion, decide that I'll never get anywhere or make anything that doesn't suck. A bit of time passes - sometimes a few months, sometimes a few days - and I get interested again, wish I'd not deleted everything, start to work on new stuff, rework old stuff, start to submit and resubmit. Never fails: a mood comes along, make the mistake of looking back, see that it all sucks; another mass deletion, and the cycle starts over, over and over and over. Not looking for easy answers or anything; just spilling. I don't think there is an answer - I'm glad Lit allows deletions, but I wish I could make peace with understanding that a writer/poet can have good days and bad days and make a work that sucks and sometimes doesn't suck, and there's always plenty to learn, and really, Lit has a great setup for the aspirant wordsmith to go in just about any direction the spirit happens to lead. Am I totally fucked up?

No. Everyone goes through this. And I mean everyone. Great poets, great novelists, they all go through periods of feeling they are just writing crap.

Which, of course, they often are.

Those of us who are not great poets can be somewhat comforted in that we are always writing crap. What we are trying to do is write better crap. Poetry (or fiction writing) is like golf (or tennis or basketball or carpentry or any kind of skill you want to use as metaphor)--you will likely get better with practice, though you may never be really good. You have to want the thing itself (write poetry) and not worry about whether you are good or not, even in your own eyes.

Like it because you like to do it. Whether you'll ever be "good" or not.

I like to write poetry, or what I like to think of as poetry. But the main thing is I like is to do it. I like to write, and "poetry" is what I like to produce, what I like to work on. So it's kind of like stepping out on the links and reminding yourself keep the left arm straight, swing inside out and being OK when you shank that damn metaphor into the woods.

You seem to want to do poems, Bud. So just do them. If they're bad, they're bad--just move on from there. We all write bad poems. Hell, Yeats wrote bad poems, though not many.

To crib from Nike, just do it.

 

[hmmnmm]

Life is more like a sine curve than a straight line or a circle.

When I try to force poetry out, I write crap. And I must have an idea of where it is going. Last week I spent five days on a poem. I must have rewrote every line a hundred times. I was appalled at how bad it was. Then I had a moment of inspiration which persuaded me to throw 90% of it away and build on the base. Before the day was out I had a poem that I was very pleased with.

Hey I like that about finding the base and building on that base. It is now a new post-it sticky on the little mental refrigerator.

 

[hmmnmm]

I have done it too. A couple of times. don't kick yourself, just remember what Tess said, all your work is worth keeping so at least you can see how much you have grown along the years.

that's the idea: a body, or bodies, of work, a history - or bodies - yeah body is better: a body of work. Kept words. Ah. The Kept Words. The Kept Poem. See? Feeling better already.

 

[hmmnmm]

No. Everyone goes through this. And I mean everyone. Great poets, great novelists, they all go through periods of feeling they are just writing crap.

Which, of course, they often are.

Those of us who are not great poets can be somewhat comforted in that we are always writing crap. What we are trying to do is write better crap. Poetry (or fiction writing) is like golf (or tennis or basketball or carpentry or any kind of skill you want to use as metaphor)--you will likely get better with practice, though you may never be really good. You have to want the thing itself (write poetry) and not worry about whether you are good or not, even in your own eyes.

Like it because you like to do it. Whether you'll ever be "good" or not.

I like to write poetry, or what I like to think of as poetry. But the main thing is I like is to do it. I like to write, and "poetry" is what I like to produce, what I like to work on. So it's kind of like stepping out on the links and reminding yourself keep the left arm straight, swing inside out and being OK when you shank that damn metaphor into the woods.

You seem to want to do poems, Bud. So just do them. If they're bad, they're bad--just move on from there. We all write bad poems. Hell, Yeats wrote bad poems, though not many.

To crib from Nike, just do it.

Like that Clarity in Poetry discussion, this offers a lot to think on (I still find myself thinking about the Clarity issue, even if I'm out walking or sitting on a patio sipping a beer). So if I don't get back with a more adequate and pronto reply after this, it's probably because I'm still thinking on it.

That's the question I get stumped on: What do you really like? Is it the poetry? Or is it something else - or do I even have a clear, enjoyably workable, understanding of what poetry is? If it turns out that The Main Big Like is not really poetry, hey I'm okay with that. I'm going to suspect that what I understand poetry to be is more of a vehicle or excuse or avenue to use for another Big Like, that I've not yet succeeded in rendering down to one or two words (but a mere handful of seconds before I sat here to write this, a word appeared - not certain it is The Word, but it's looking really good, so I will investigate the matter and return with thoughts as they seem pertinent).

Very helpful reply, TZ. Appreciate it.

eta: re: the golfing: could be something like, it isn't so much the golfing itself, but all the green and greens and greenery, and the ponds, and it's a great excuse to be around so much green and greens and greenery and still get some exercise, and ending up at the 19th. Maybe go to the park tomorrow. Learning a little bit about how to actually play golf offers its own enjoyment, but it isn't the Main Big Enjoyment. Something like that. Of course that could be way off - a super-duper-triple-quadruple-omg bogey. Wouldn't be the first time. Okay. Done for now. Thanks.

 

[Neonurotic]

Am I totally fucked up?

No, like it's been said here everyone does the same. Sometimes more extreme, deleting their Lit name. That's why there is a Neonurotic instead of a neonurotic, or I suppose a "Tristesse2" then a Tristesse.

I think more often it's the Lit poets rather then the Lit authors who do mass deletions and go back later re-submit/submit their work again. I wonder why that is?

 

[hmmnmm]

No, like it's been said here everyone does the same. Sometimes more extreme, deleting their Lit name. That's why there is a Neonurotic instead of a neonurotic, or I suppose a "Tristesse2" then a Tristesse.

I think more often it's the Lit poets rather then the Lit authors who do mass deletions and go back later re-submit/submit their work again. I wonder why that is?

Hm. That's pretty interesting. Never really noticed that. Chin scratcher. (laughing here) I actually thought of deleting the name just to trade the h for H.

Maybe because of the closer scrutiny that is paid to each word and effect and rhythm, and whatever else - whether it's a couple thousand words or a couplet?

Maybe one fateful day in a fated mood, see a bunch of problems that went completely unnoticed - then one day they're glaring. DELETE NOW! FLUSH! Back to the beginning.

More fine food for thought. Thanks, Neon.

 

[hmmnmm]

Think I know why. An ah-ha came along yesterday. A new understanding. Something overlooked. Something just not understood, but now understood a little better. And in the light of what is newly understood, all that was done before seems so wrong. Starting out without hardly idea what to do, just try stuff. An ah-ha hits. Seems like a big ah-ha but later realize it was just a baby ah-ha. Like little pieces. Little lights. Feeling for the way in the dark. A little light comes on but because it's so dark it looks like more light than it is, though it is sufficient to proceed a short ways. So then a more significant-seeming ah-ha comes along and it's like: no no no. erase erase erase.... start all over with this new understanding. But it would be better to leave it all, to see where new understandings happened. Something like that. Someone long ago tried to explain to me why it was best to leave the works where they were, but as usual I didn't understand. Shall try to leave them up this time. Even though I can't hardly stand them now. But I think that's what is up.

 

[champagne1982]

Tzed, you keep talking about Yeats. So much so that I do believe there's far more than an infection 'round here, it's a damned infestation...

Tihmmnmm... Consider this- What makes you happy? Are you at your happiest when you stop pondering the universe here on your Lit rambles or when you're actually writing one? You have so many things to offer people who pause and read what you've actually put out to the world.

I found a great place to store my deleted poems. It copies the entire page with comments and formatting. I guess it must keep hold of the html coding when I paste it in to the blog. Anyway, that's an archive where I don't lose the history of each poem even if I put it in the big ol' storage locker for trailer park poets...

I love your writing and it's fun blurbing at you when we're both around.

 

[hmmnmm]

What makes me happy? Wow. That's a doozy. And what makes me happiest? That's just a plain old whopper doozy.

Let me go think on that. Get back to you. Great question.

Going for a quick grab, I'll conscript as a placeholder, the word: Confidence. Whatever else I think of that can be said to constitute the Main Big Happys, their common ground will probably come down to that word, Confidence. Feeling confident. Confidence in knowing what I'm doing. Or not worrying if I do or don't know. For the purposes of wordsmithing (poetic or other-than): taking a line or sentence or paragraph that is murky, vague, maybe even dead, and having the confidence that I can vivify it or give it texture or definition or maybe even give it a form of life. Or the confidence that I am choosing to leave it murky, vague, dead. If only because I feel like it.

Yeah that's probably it. It's a wave that comes along once in a while and it feels so good to ride it, feels so so so good. But there's always that crash....

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

The only thing about deleting poetry from this site is that, on re-entry, it appears as a "new poem". Perhaps there could be a category especially for re-submission of polished works.

 

[hmmnmm]

The only thing about deleting poetry from this site is that, on re-entry, it appears as a "new poem". Perhaps there could be a category especially for re-submission of polished works.

It would remove the wondering about if or how to explain it. Especially if you can't remember the original title.

 

[bogusagain]

Am I totally fucked up?

No, you suffer from what all creative people suffer from, creative doubt. It can be very destructive if you don't control it. I once destroyed 30 large canvases and then went and got pissed up to celebrate my kicking art into touch. I spent the next six months regretting it and trying to make good my destruction. Now when I have a bout of creative doubt I lock up my studio and not go near it for a couple of weeks.

 

[Tzara]

The only thing about deleting poetry from this site is that, on re-entry, it appears as a "new poem". Perhaps there could be a category especially for re-submission of polished works.

It would remove the wondering about if or how to explain it. Especially if you can't remember the original title.

There is a procedure for submitting a revision to a posted poem (or story, for that matter). I think you just submit the edited version with the title Poem Title-EDITED and include a note indicating you want to have the new version substituted for the old. That way you can keep the comments on the original.

This assumes, of course, you didn't delete the original.

I used to occasionally delete poems, usually because I wanted to try and submit them for publication elsewhere, though sometimes because they were bad.

I've since tried to live up to Tzara's First Rule of Poetry Writing: Do not be afraid to be bad. And I am, frequently.

 

[hmmnmm]

Took a short trip through history and a key word seems to be something like: Focus. Having something to focus on. A place. A person. An idea. A story. Poetry. Beginning a story and becoming more intrigued and intimate. Focus on this world, this place, these people. Everything else set aside, sent away. Who is this guy? What does he do? How does he speak? Who is the girl? What about the clothes? What is the year? the season? Etc etc.... all concerns fixed on that one region.

With the poetry, it would be: Focus on one Something. A month. All things that connect to the month. Everything else, set aside, sent away. Or something like colors. Think Colors. Focus on colors. Or a color. Whatever else it does the base or the anchor or the root, will be color or colors. Or whatever. Anything. A texture or textures. Or setting. City. A city street. The country. A country road. Whaever else may appear in the poem, the foundation is that setting - scene, mood. Sounds. Sounds in a city, sounds in the country.


When that sort of focus has been in effect, in progress, it seemed the enjoyment/happiness/confidence levels were pleasantly high. But when that precious focus fizzles, then it's back to directionless scattershooting, and cluttering up forums with one ponderous whine after another, like this one is. So I'll shut up now and go look for some focus.

Problem is, there's so much to choose from.

 

[hmmnmm]

Oh and about the doubts and fears: I recall/think that the getting on that wave or into that groove or into the deep exploration of any given subject, object, idea, time, place, person, people, etc.... becomes such a pleasure in itself - challenges and problems and impasses are not deterrents or debilitations but appetizing enticements - what might otherwise become an excuse to quit is suddenly just another sassy sweet-assed tart to put over knee and give a good spanking to - and being that deep into that much enjoyment seems to automatically nullify those doubts and fears about any given result at any given time, because half the fun is seeing how things turn out, because even if they're flops and bombs that's just another sassy sweet-assed tart to put over knee and give a good spanking.

That's the way I'm seeing it.

Okay. Done.

Ciao for now.

Gone Focusin'

 

[Black13]

It's a problem. Don't know why. Probably don't want to know why. Get in a mood, make the mistake of looking back, and seeing that everything sucks, and then do a mass deletion, decide that I'll never get anywhere or make anything that doesn't suck. A bit of time passes - sometimes a few months, sometimes a few days - and I get interested again, wish I'd not deleted everything, start to work on new stuff, rework old stuff, start to submit and resubmit. Never fails: a mood comes along, make the mistake of looking back, see that it all sucks; another mass deletion, and the cycle starts over, over and over and over. Not looking for easy answers or anything; just spilling. I don't think there is an answer - I'm glad Lit allows deletions, but I wish I could make peace with understanding that a writer/poet can have good days and bad days and make a work that sucks and sometimes doesn't suck, and there's always plenty to learn, and really, Lit has a great setup for the aspirant wordsmith to go in just about any direction the spirit happens to lead. Am I totally fucked up?

As a musician that never plans to make a dime off of his passion, I have been in exactly that situation. You write something and think it's the best thing in the world, but by the time you're done you're sick of it and have had ample time to contemplate the flaws of your masterpiece. As you review it in your mind for a while, one day it dawns on you: "What the fuck was I thinking?" You are embarrassed and you want to distance yourself from that shlock. The only way to banish it from your conscience is to physically get rid of it. Done that a few times myself, but I have since stopped.
Why? Would you ever throw out your baby pictures? Or the footage of your 5th birthday where you hid frightened under the tree every time a plane flew by (yes, I did)? Or that horrible show choir you were in in high school? Not at all! This is your life, this is how you got here. You know why you think your old work sucks? Cause you've gotten better. Each thing you make teaches you how to make it better. These are your baby pictures... might not want the whole world to see them, but a few good people might appreciate them.

 

[Black13]

No. Everyone goes through this. And I mean everyone. Great poets, great novelists, they all go through periods of feeling they are just writing crap.

Which, of course, they often are.

Those of us who are not great poets can be somewhat comforted in that we are always writing crap. What we are trying to do is write better crap. Poetry (or fiction writing) is like golf (or tennis or basketball or carpentry or any kind of skill you want to use as metaphor)--you will likely get better with practice, though you may never be really good. You have to want the thing itself (write poetry) and not worry about whether you are good or not, even in your own eyes.

Like it because you like to do it. Whether you'll ever be "good" or not.

I like to write poetry, or what I like to think of as poetry. But the main thing is I like is to do it. I like to write, and "poetry" is what I like to produce, what I like to work on. So it's kind of like stepping out on the links and reminding yourself keep the left arm straight, swing inside out and being OK when you shank that damn metaphor into the woods.

You seem to want to do poems, Bud. So just do them. If they're bad, they're bad--just move on from there. We all write bad poems. Hell, Yeats wrote bad poems, though not many.

To crib from Nike, just do it.

Well fucking said, Tzara.

 

[Tzara]

Well fucking said, Tzara.

Thank you, B-13. Too bad I always bet red.

It has not worked out well for well for me, truth to tell.

 

[Black13]

There's no playing it safe in roulette. Stick half a good day on a color before you leave, and the wheel will tell you where you're having breakfast in the morning.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

The roulette wheel is the only sure thing to bet on; so long as you're sure you're in a family establishment, you can bet the lowest at the table and quit when you're ahead. Once.