| Blank Verses & Open Mics: Why I’m Not a Libra |
| Written by Jim Warner | ||||||
 So I came to the page today and I really wanted to talk about the book launch for Too Bad It’s Poetry, available from Paper Kite Press. Forget the fact that this might come off as shameless blogger-esque self-service. It was going to be a story that used the whole “having a book thing” as a rant on what belief and hard work gets you at the end of the day. Personally, the vibe felt a little too Horatio Alger for my own taste. Besides, I was also trying to get ready for a reading. And maybe I’d even take a minute to enjoy myself. I mean, how many times do you get published? (Hopefully more than once!) I realized a week before my reading that I often have a flat out horrible time enjoying what I accomplish. Don’t get me wrong, the last thing I am is a stick-in-the-mud or a malcontent. I guess that’s what made this tiny epiphany even more troubling. If I was more of a morose cat, I would go home, stare directly into the blackness of the void and wallow in some Morrissey-coiffed alienation. I’m not that kind of guy—well, at least, I’m not that kind of guy most of the time. If there is any artist stereotype I do inhabit, it is the cold hard fact that my writing is more work than art. I dedicate an inordinate amount of time to creating, revising, and rehearsing poetry. There are nights when I don’t get to sleep until well after midnight, and it has nothing to do with last calls and single malts. I have a roll-top desk in my bedroom, nothing real fancy, but it is every much the work bench my dad has in my parents’ basement. Having my writing studio in my bedroom means I can get up and go right to it or stay up insanely late and continue to work. So, based on my revelation, I decided to write out my schedule. I mapped out what I did for a week and it looked like this: • 6:30 a.m. - Wake up/Write • 9-5 p.m. - Work • 8-9 p.m. - Performance rehearsal (S-M-W) • 9.30-11 p.m. - Writing/researching venues for publishing/performance With the exception of the 6:30 a.m. wake-up call, there was some flexibility in my schedule, but not much. I think when you spend most of your time with your head down, grinding out the work, you lose track of time spent on your writing. Typically, mapping out your schedule is an important way to track trends in your work. It’s an old creative writing exercise Dr. Culver gave us in my undergrad days. The schedule map helps determine what your peak hours are for writing; however, when I mapped out my days, I realized the opposite. I have no life. Now this is a phrase on the very verge of being sad and melodramatic, but there is an acorn of truth in the statement. I have spent the better part of the last two-and-a-half years in this mode. In a lot of ways I had to—it was the only way I was going to be able to complete a full manuscript and a Master’s thesis. I also enjoy writing. It may be work, but it’s what I love. That said, there is still a huge imbalance in working and living going on right now. Getting published, doing readings, teaching, and writing are all amazing things, and experiences that not everyone has the opportunity to have in a day to day world. The key, however, is to still be able to share these experiences with someone. When I say someone, this isn’t the part where I create my Match.com profile, although I do like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. You need to share your life with those you love—friends, family, lover, sidekick. There has to be time for them as well. I am thankful that most of my friends understand how focused I am on what I do and are very, very patient with me. It also helps to have a majority of friends who are also writers and artists—they get it. It’s funny; even as I’m writing this, Nicole invited me to dinner with my friend, Jim, tomorrow night. . . and I can’t make it because I’ll be teaching. Much like everything else, balance is an ongoing project. Bookmark with:
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