He became a poet the way other men become monks: as a devotional practice, as an act of love, as a lifelong commitment to the search for grace and transcendence. I think this is a very good way to become a poet, or the be anything really, that calls to your heart and brings you to life.

Elizabeth Gilbert, on Jack Gilbert, Big Magic.

I became a poet the way other people become waitresses, needing a quick way to make a few bucks and learning that cash in your pocket each night isn’t a terrible way to live.

 I needed a university writing class and my few friends who took the short story writing class had to type three to four page stories each week. This was pre-word processor. And my father, a full believer in the women’s rights era of the late 70’s/early 80’s, advised me to never take a typing class, because one day I would be the only female engineer in a room of engineering professionals and if I couldn’t type, I wouldn’t be stuck taking notes for the team. 

So my hunt and peck typing skills did not lend themselves to turning in a story a week. But poems? Terseness was a feature, not a bug. I signed up and geared myself up to do the minimum required to pass. 

Except, my inherent laziness and active vocabulary, along with a lack of knowing how to sound pretentious got in the way. The professor tore apart one of my assignments in front of the class, not because it was bad, (although it was) but because, he proclaimed, I was a poet and I should know better. What did that even mean? I asked him in office hours and after a twenty minute soliloquy about the act of making people feel that they were breathing the same unconditioned air that we do, as poets, he came clean. Terseness was a feature, not a bug. I may have been proclaimed a poet that day, but it was more the work of my inherent laziness than any devotional practice. It was not a lifelong commitment to the search for grace and truth, by more the lifelong commitment to getting my chores done quickly so I could go daydream fan-fiction about my latest TV crush. (Daydream, because actually writing? See about re:laziness.) Priorities, right?

But now, I claim the mantle of poet. Because in an era of capitalism run amok, poetry will save us all. (Oh, not my poetry. But maybe after reading mine, someone might look for real, grace and transcendence-type poets and therefore save their soul. It would be my small thing, pointing to the work of the masters.)

Welcome to my latest exercise in an attempt to reach my goal of being a prolific writer in 2025. So, in addition to writing 1 short story each week (Because Ray Bradbury said you can’t write 52 bad ones – challenge accepted!) I will  post an entry from my Commonplace book and a short note on why the quote spoke to me on that day. I can hear you now – sucky stories and random quotes? Sign me up.

For more information about the blogging challenge, see http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/)