Write Rat wrote on Mar 9
th, 2011 at 3:20pm:
Denise, I was struck at how you describe your story, as if you hadn't written it. As if you were reviewing it. That's such a mysterious process, huh? Once I write something, it's as if I had nothing to do with it. When I'm writing, and the story goes in a different direction than I intended, I know it's flowing. I've always considered it magical
Amelia,
Years ago I wrote a poem describing how I feel about my writing. (Of course, being a poem, it describes many other things too, including my disillusionment with the way my first marriage ended.) But I've never found a better way to explain the wonder of the feeling than this:
Words
Clearing my throat once more, I took
a sip of my favorite cabernet
and began to write. In the other room
nocturnal boys debated our fate
while my throat tightened. I swallowed twice
and set my pen to page. I wrote
words both luscious and alive,
deep lovely words that tomorrow
I’d read again with a piercing ache,
because surely that didn’t come
from me? It’s always the same – the writing
and then the reading and then the wonder –
every time. I cleared my throat,
sure that my voice would be gone tomorrow,
uneasy as to where it goes
when it leaves me, but unwilling
to ask. I deeply drank the wine
and hoped its medicinal effects
could cure my incipient cold. I
twirled my pen between cramped fingers
and paused a space to collect my thoughts.
Yes, the hero dies – most certainly
he dies – and his lover mourns him full
of despair and anguish and pain. That’s it –
I swallowed once – that’s how it should end –
not at all like real life where neither
dies nor loves nor mourns, where only one
is left empty on a rainy night
with the kids barely asleep and the wind
picking up and a cold coming on.
I downed a Bayer to assist
the wine in curing my sore throat
and prayed without hope for a warm front.
~D.Felt rev. 1997
Of course, back when I wrote the first draft of this poem I didn't have a computer or even a typewriter. I wrote everything longhand. Is it any wonder that I spent more time writing poetry than stories? :

I hope you like the poem. Although it's sad, it said it right, I think, about that magical feeling.