The distractions of poetry

Sometimes when I sit down to work on my novel, my mind wanders and is unable to focus. I am stuck or uncertain where to go with the story; I feel frustrated, empty of ideas, completely hopeless.

Sometimes I find myself working on a poem instead; my novel left untouched. I’m not sure if it’s a distraction or a kind of procrastination. I hope it’s a continuation of the creative process.

Poetry opens my imagination. I can express thoughts and ideas. I can experiment. I can develop my skills as a writer; use description, imagery, play with words. I must not worry. The more I write, the better I will get. The important thing is to write. Write anything, write everything and write as often as I can.

So this morning, when I sat down to think about my novel, a conversation with my husband popped into my head. At the moment, the weather is particularly unseasonable. This is an interaction we have on many nights, it’s almost a poem:

 

Get your hands off me,

they’re freezing.

Cold hands, warm heart.

Your heart must be a 

fiery furnace.

Get your feet off me,

they’re ice blocks.

Cold feet, poor circulation.

Your toes will

fall off one day.

You’re an iceberg.

I’m not your personal heater.

Yes, you are.

A husband is your very own

hot water bottle.