This persona thing is harder than one might think; at least it is for me. I have been writing what I want to write, on my own schedule, from my vantage point, for so long that it is a struggle to do anything else. When we first received the journal assignment, there was a distinction made between a writing journal and a diary. Now obviously I know the difference, but that doesn’t always mean that I insist on the difference. You know, the whole “every square is a rectangle but not every rectangle is a square” thing. That is this.
In an effort to expand outside of what I “normally” do, I have been making a concerted effort to play with different voices. While role play can be uncomfortable, it is more so when you know it is going to be outed in public. I know there are always parts of me in the words I place on the page. I can only assume others know that as well. The apprehension comes in when you try to guess how much of yourself will people assign to person and how much persona. After they decide that, what assumptions, judgments, innuendos will they create? What whispers, side eyes, pearl clutches will they read? It is enough to make you throw the whole keyboard away.
Right up until you don’t. Right up until you find the courage to just say “fuck it” (told you it’s a tactic I employ pretty often) and you just decide you are going to create the thing you want to create in this moment and, if met with ridiculousness, well then, let’s all get ridiculous.
There was a little of this when I decided “Black Barrel” was something I could turn in. I wanted it to be sexy, but I was a teeny bit afraid to write sexy. I mean how much is too much? How much is too little? Where is the Goldilocks of sexy for a writer who is not really versed at it? I dunno so I just went with it.
Interesting fact: The more often you do the scary, the less scary it becomes. I had the same type pause with this next assignment. I really enjoyed doing it. The process was a lot of fun. And, it was one of those creations that guided itself. I can assure you that I had no intention of writing about the aging challenges of women. None. But there it was. And I kinda liked it. But it needed a title. “Menopausal Momentum” was the very first thing that came to my mind. Like really fast. But I threw it out damn near as quick. There was just something too raw, too close, too intimate. I tried a few different things that were so inferior that I can’t even remember what they were now. So, I did it again. “Fuck it,” throw the title on it, turn it in before you can think about it anymore.
And it works. At least I think it does.
Creative Writing Exercise #3 – Voice
Pick a song on your iPod, phone, or a playlist at random and let it influence you as you quickly write a first draft of a poem.
Menopausal Momentum Momentum moves Saving grace Sitting still Headspace I open my silent mouth A mermaid song Drowned in crashing despair Tides of wasted potential Wrong place, wrong time Sound wave hits my ear Confused light at my eye Misstep. Again There was a time When I could be considered Considerable. Today I am considerate Time made change of my dime Inflation devalues the stock Thought I was broke in the beginning Different hole, different depths Angry isn’t the word Rage radiates into the frizz Hair pulled out Shedding the gray Salt burns eyes Creates questions in stone Melts into watered down comfort Things best done alone Soft petals recall spring. I remember. I knew how to be lonely then. Winter makes me hard Fur lined coat Feel good fake warmth Move through the fantasy Until momentum returns