I finally passed the halfway point to the minimum (10000) word goal for Camp NaNoWriMo. It's July 22nd.
The good news is, I surpassed my personal 620 lines of poetry goal days ago.
98% of my writing is very very rough draft. Dreck.
At the same time, about half of it is personal, dealing with things I'm still processing. So I'm spending the time quietly, not publishing.
But here's a piece that's exceedingly meta, because that's what happens when you take on NaNo.
|Drawing drops of blood|
|from the heel of a|
|Writing a poem|
|feels like that.|
|Except when the muse of loquacious imagery|
|points the fire hose of words,|
|blasting straight at your face|
|in your mind|
|out your pen|
|please don't run out of ink!|
The muse gives no guarantee
|of quality or satisfaction-|
|often you wake hungover,|
|faced with pages upon pages|
|of utter crap.|
|Still better than the empty page,|
|the taunting blinking cursor.|