Monday, July 21, 2008

A Funny Thing Happened While I Prepared My Keynote

While up in the Boston area for Readercon, I've been writing my keynote address for this year's convention of the Florida State Poets Association. "A poem in your pocket" is the conference theme.

The conference doesn't occur until October, but I'll be convention-hopping, so the time is going to fly. After rehearsing until late this past Friday night for the two readings I gave on Saturday (prose with Broad Universe, poetry with the Science Fiction Poetry Association), I awoke disgustingly early on Saturday with ideas churning for the keynote. I banged out 1,935 words before heading down to that day's 10 o'clock panel.

My keynote deals with the whole inspiration/brainstorming/get-it-on-the-page process. As I wrote, I clicked over to Sunday Scribblings and its prompt, "Ghosts," then wrote the poem below in a couple of minutes:

I'm floating my options
through the wall,
making those hard, incorporeal choices,
the ones that never take solid form.

The ones that haunt,
just out of reach.
Dead ideas making mischief.
The life not taken.

I'm posting a little late, but my "Ghosts" writing occurred on Saturday morning. My Readercon report is forthcoming -- after I catch up on sleep...

[end of entry]


Blogger Crafty Green Poet said...

Hope your address goes well! I enjoyed reading your poem

2:53 AM  
Blogger danni said...

very clever verse - much enjoyed --- good luck with your keynote!!!

10:40 AM  
Blogger Granny Smith said...

That poem captures the writer's dilemma so well! A quite familiar haunt. It sounds as though you have your keynote address well in hand.

I had no idea that there was such a thing as a Science Fiction Poetry Association. Thanks for the link.

3:29 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'll join with others in saying, good luck with the conference presentation! I enjoyed your lovely poem, especially that last line as it reverberates with Frost (the road not taken), but also because as a newly retired person, I have such a different sense of time. Your poem reminds me of those days when so many work commitments meant that my writing came in such snatches, intense, with a mild sense of regret for the "life not taken." But it sounds as if you are immersed in writing. May it all go well.

7:44 PM  

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