It's the Sunday morning before HOWL, my monthly open mic poetry reading celebrating women's voices in Fayetteville. I should be preparing for that event, finishing up poems and cleaning up an essay I'm reading in concert with 4 other women from my writing group, Hen's Teeth. Instead, I'm writing a blog post which is long overdue, but probably could have waited until tomorrow. Still, when the spirit moves you, move!
I have borrowed the title of a book I highly recommend, Art and Fear, as the title of my blog post today. It's a phrase that any artist, new or old, highly acclaimed or just starting out, can identify with. (I realize that sentence ends in a preposition but I must continue.) This is the sort of thing I'm talking about. (See, did it again) Sometimes we must move past our fear of writing according to grammatical rules and simply write what needs, what is driving us, to be written.
The book, Art & Fear: Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of ARTMAKING by David Bayles & Ted Orland is a remarkable book; really, a necessary book for all those who create art of any kind. Making art is scary--of that there can be no doubt. Even an old-timer like myself, writing and encouraging writers for years now, gets shaky when something new is on the horizon. Bayles and Orland say that uncertainty is as much a part of the creative process as imagination. They call uncertainty a virtue, in fact. "Uncertainty is the essential, inevitable, and all-pervasive companion to your desire to make art. And tolerance for uncertainty is the prerequisite to succeeding." (p.21)
Why am I dealing with this now? Sure, I've encountered my share of uncertainty all along this journey through writing and reading my work. But in 18 years, I've never published a book of my own. Chapbooks, sure. And 3 CD's. I've had my work published in other magazines and books. But I have never had a fine-bound book of my very own. I've always worried that my poetry was meant for the stage instead of the page. People needed to hear it to appreciate it. Whether this is true or not, I never gave them the chance to buy a copy of my poems and read them alone in the privacy of their own homes.
Now, all that is changing. I have had an offer to publish a book of my "hit singles" from the past. Most of these poems were written quite awhile ago, when the dam first burst, and poems came pouring out of me with enough force to create electricity for hundreds of homes. I've read them, truthfully, all over the country and even in South Africa. They have been heard on CD in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. But nothing has ever frightened me more than putting together this book of my bard-like poems. How can I stand beside published, acclaimed, academic poets and assert with confidence that my work is just as important, no matter how different, as their work is?
Really, I am scared shitless. I am completely uncertain about how my work will be received in this new format, much less accepted. Who will want to buy or read my book when they have all these highly recommended prize-winning poets to choose from? (Darn those prepositions.)
So I am trying to develop my "tolerance for uncertainty." I've done well, so far. I was able, even when just beginning to write, to stand before a group of people and read and perform my work. But I come from a family of preachers and my courage and confidence before an audience seemed inherited. My hands didn't shake for long before I was enjoying the limelight like the ham I am. (Apologies to Dr. Seuss.)
But a book; a book where folks could sit down and read and criticize my work carefully. I mean, appreciate my work. Yes, appreciate every word and nuance; each image and metaphor, repeatedly if they like. This is the way I must look at the outcome. The way I will look at it as I pull these poems together, edit, and hand them to my publisher. And, of course, continue reading Art and Fear on a daily basis.
You'll be hearing more about my forthcoming book, expected "out" in September. I will give you the title now so you'll know where to look: It will be called "A Little Lazarus" from one of my partner's and my publisher's favorite poems. The rest is still a mystery, even to me. So you'll have to wait, breathlessly I'm sure, for the outcome.
Your uncertain, but determined author,
Mendy
1 comment:
one copy sold! I can't wait! -Starr
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