The Rise of Self Doubt

There is this poetry contest I was excited to enter. I had this wonderful idea for a poem and have been tweaking it for weeks now. As the deadline looms; however, I’ve found my enthusiasm waning and self-doubt rearing its ugly head. Does this happen to other writers? Have any of you decided to enter a contest or submit something to a publication only to experience these feelings? I keep telling myself that my work has just as much of a chance as anyone else. And I’ll never know unless I try and multiple other platitudes that sound as hollow as a ping-pong ball. Over the past few days, it’s been amazing how many ways I’ve found to not work on the poem. The deadline is October 1st, it’s creeping up so quickly and the apathy I’ve developed towards working on it has been astonishing. I want to put my writing out there. I want as many people as possible to see my work but I’m questioning my own work like it’s out to get me. I also know that a big part of being a writer is being able to handle rejection. Rationally I know how most of what I submit won’t be accepted. But it’s always that self-doubt isn’t it? That lingering fear of what I put forth won’t be good enough. The countdown continues and the poem remains unfinished. I’ll keep you posted on what happens.

The Post-It Woven Patchwork

Slowly…slowly… I am losing my mind

I can feel it happening, one thing at a time

Like the sands in an hourglass

Slowly slipping through.

Falling into some dark abyss.

I don’t want to bid adieu.

To all the times in days gone by

Whether good or bad.

They are still my memories

And losing them is sad.

So now I’m obsessively writing

Jotting everything down

Every thought and memory

Scraps of paper now surround

This little spot I sit in

With my paper and pen

So when memories are no more

I’ll be covered in them.

Like a post-it woven patchwork

A wondrous little covering

I’ll be wrapped up in them

And old memories I’ll be discovering.

Inner Fire

On those nights when it’s the darkest

There’s no light within your eyes.

All your hope has faded

And the tears will never dry.

That’s the time to regain focus

To close your eyes and breathe

And calm your mind and your soul

To reclaim what is underneath.

Center yourself, and you will see it.

A tiny burning spark.

Your ember of inner fire

That can still conquer the dark.

Let it draw you to it.

Like a moth to proverbial flame.

It will never hurt you.

But you won’t ever be the same.

Once the fire consumes you and

The flames extinguish your tears

The strength you feel will overcome

Those troubles you’ve had for years.

Keep those eyes closed tight and watch

All the negativity burn away

Let your entire self become the light

And wake to a brand new day.

Guys! You Gotta See This!

I fell in love with this piece of writing the moment I read it and had to share it with more people.

Over-sensitive is an understatement. Sometimes it’s hard to function. Like those days when every human interaction is as tense as tracing the edge of a razor. Conversation is nightmarish. Each rhetorical intonation is internalized. Analyzed. Immediately personalized. Muscles ache from muted intensity. Posture reflects defeat, bowing with hollowed fatigue. Somatic torture of the soul. Believing […]

via Each Day, Try Again — The Brass

Illness Driven Creativity

As of today, I’m slowly crawling back to my daily life. My cold turned into bronchitis and put me in bed for the better part of the weekend. I haven’t wanted to do much of anything except falling asleep watching television. But something weird seems to happen to me when I get sick. When I’m falling asleep, or after I have, my creativity seems to blossom and I come up with some of the craziest story ideas. I’ll return to wakefulness and it’s like a bookshelf of stories waiting to be written. So as I’m recovering from my illness I’ve wrapped myself in a blanket of new characters, ideas, and storylines that are driving my recovery. I’m curious to hear if this happens to any of my readers. Does illness bring a creative burst into your lives as well?

Lunar Lessons

Full Moon


Writers are like the moon.

Orbiting the worlds they create.

Controlling the ebb and flow

Of what happens below.


I thought this was going to be a longer poem but it didn’t go anywhere and after fighting what I thought it should be, I realized that this was how it was always going to be, short and sweet. Working on this blog and writing on a more regular basis I find myself learning a lot about my writing process. Maybe, I have so many unfinished poems, in my metaphorical attic, because I’m trying to force them to be something they’re not. I have a tendency to start a poem and immediately lock in a style and cadence and I have a hard time breaking out of that box.  Even this poem shows that in the line “Controlling the ebb and flow.” I’m trying to control the flow of my writing when I need to learn to just let it be what it wants to be.