We Drink and We Know Things
Have you ever had a cup of coffee you remember years later? Was there flavor, or was it just hot water? I think as a writer, I want to leave burn marks on readers’ tongues. I want them to see my name and think, oh, this cup will have some bite to it.
My inspiration comes from gut feelings. My best writing is usually accompanied by bourbon, never wine. Wine, especially red wine, makes me a special kind of emotional being. Unrecognizable. Someone once said on a writing website, your poetry isn’t profound. You’re just drunk. Not to me, just to the general writing population. I strive to be better than that, but sober, I’m rather stunted.
I take my feelings and put them in a mason jar, like fireflies. I access them and deem them worthy of a poem or not. Sometimes, believe it or not, I decide not to write about them. It’s a hard choice every time, to set them free. But as Hobbes said to Calvin, if we could keep rainbows in museums, we would. I try not to think of myself on that grande a scale. I let the fireflies go, watch them disappear into the dark.
Writing, for me, is inspired by people. I take conversations and weave them into poems. I am fascinated by language, the nuances and inflections. How to produce a good poem with these pieces can be like completing a 1000 word jigsaw puzzle, and honestly, sometimes I’m not patient enough to sit with my thoughts. But people need to be seen. I need to reflect on what people say, and sometimes that happens in a transparent glass.
Writing, basically, defines who I am. Who are you when the coffee gets cold, when the bourbon wears off? No one. Keep writing, keep going. Immortalize those feelings in your own personal mason jar.