tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147061802024-03-09T20:29:42.871-05:00wordswimmerCome dive into a sea of words and swim toward a new understanding of the writing process.Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.comBlogger559125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-38475487862677381702024-03-01T08:30:00.001-05:002024-03-01T08:54:39.018-05:00They say if you want to writeThey say if you want to writeyou need to write aboutwhat hurts the most,so you ask yourselfwhat's causing you the most pain,and then you waitto see what your heart reveals.But what if they're wrongand you don't need to writeabout what hurts the most?What if you need to write aboutwhat you love most? About life?About what you're most grateful for?What if you need to write aboutwhat you notice in Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-68919904319876514162024-02-05T10:00:00.001-05:002024-02-05T11:37:59.703-05:00The way words fall on the pageThe way wordsfall on the pagelike snowflakesmaking patternson the windowpane.It's mesmerizing--writing, putting wordsdown on paper--every word shapeddifferently, creatinga new patternon the page,an imagethat never existed before,each wordlike a windowoffering a new viewof the world.Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-9150306482853015982024-01-01T16:00:00.004-05:002024-01-01T16:01:52.842-05:00Full steam aheadFull steam aheadyou mustn't look backno glancing over your shoulderat the pages you've writtenor the days that camebefore this oneeyes fronteven though you can't seewhat's coming you must step into the unknownwith hopewith faith it will all fall into placeeven if you don't know how(you never know how)but here we are againwritingfilling the blank page(how wonderful is that?)still not Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-12364467203089882442023-12-01T13:00:00.001-05:002023-12-01T13:05:52.166-05:00Every morningEvery morning I sit down at my desk not knowing what I'll write, not knowing if I'll find the wordsto write anything at all.I can spend hours filled with doubt that I have nothing to say, no words formingin the back of my throatwaiting to emerge.There's only silence and doubt, and a kind ofstubborn determination that I must write somethingif the day--if my Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-15443700000236934552023-11-01T08:30:00.000-04:002023-11-01T08:32:50.279-04:00The future has yet to be writtenI don't know where I'm goingthe future is unknowna sheaf of daysthat have yet to be writtenblank pageswaiting for wordsthe words hiddensomewhere in the futureperhaps stored in a penI have yet to pick uppeeking out from beneath a nibwaiting to be discoveredor compressed into the charcoal leadof a #2 pencil, the way diamondsare pressed beneath stoneswaiting for the pressure ofmy hand moving Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-28093607838476043502023-10-01T08:00:00.001-04:002023-10-01T09:09:24.857-04:00Listening for wordsListening for wordswaiting for a voiceto whisper in my earhoping I'll recognizeit when I hear it--if I hear it--not knowing whatto expectsitting in anticipationof something(but what?)not knowing anythingmore than theblank pageand the pen inmy handpoised over the pagewaiting to hearwhat I've never heard beforepraying I'll be able tocatch the wordswith my penand bring themto the pagelike Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-1826188828845626362023-09-04T12:00:00.002-04:002023-09-04T12:23:52.666-04:00Replenishing the wellLately I've shortened the time I spend writing in the morning.In part it's an effort to re-charge my energy after a busy month and give myself a rest. The chance to rest will, I hope, help replenish the well out of which all words come. Every so often I think the well, which feels close to empty now, needs time to refill itself. I don't remember the last time I took a break. All I knowBruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-53816399043950783602023-08-04T09:00:00.001-04:002023-08-04T09:32:41.940-04:00Just a glimmerYou reach a point when your mind goes blank like a blackboard that's been erased, only chalk dust clinging to the board but no words,
and you stare into the blankness
wondering where the words went
and if you’ll ever find them—if they’ll ever appear again,
and suddenly a word—or the shadow
of a word—appearsjust a glimmer
but you see it and grab hold and
Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-6201246651040396432023-07-03T13:30:00.001-04:002023-07-03T13:46:04.311-04:00A love of booksHow Aunt Sylvia loved books! They filled her house, and onmy visits I'd find them scattered on every available surface. Bookshelves, tables, nightstands,radiator covers. Stacks of booksshe'd already read. Stacks waitingto be read. Romances. Historical fiction.Literary novels. Biographies. You could go into any room and find books there. Paperbacks, hardcovers. Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-30647195808440487712023-06-02T17:30:00.001-04:002023-06-02T17:31:44.790-04:00Out of nowhereIt’s so strange how poems
come out of nowhere
like clouds passing by
like birds soaring overhead
fluttering to a branch for just a moment
suddenly still
then flying off again
or like rabbits
hiding in the grass
playing a game of hide-and-seek
or peek-a-boo.
Catch me if you can!
What if you think of your pen
as a butterfly net chasing words,
trying to catch your Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-29123436526396923092023-05-02T07:00:00.006-04:002023-05-02T07:05:18.282-04:00It's like a miracle happensEach morning I set aside a half-hour to write these pages.It's the time of day I love--the silence of early morning, the blank pages waitingin anticipation for words,the not knowing what I'll find on the page, what ideasor thoughts I might discover.It's like a miracle happens every morning: I open my eyes and get out of bed and sit at my desk and hold this pen and Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-52202083212483587342023-04-02T07:30:00.001-04:002023-04-02T07:49:43.990-04:00The way ink driesThe way ink smudgesbefore it driesthe way letters form on the pagethe way a simple linecan convey meaningthe way wordssound like your voicethe way your handholds the penthe way a poemtakes shapethe way we fillthe silencethe way each letter,each line, is partof the mystery.—Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-52634960455006379012023-03-01T07:30:00.017-05:002023-03-01T07:54:32.291-05:00There are secrets you can't see or knowThere are secrets you can't see or knowuntil you begin writing.Your pen opens the world like a key unlocking a door.Each page is like an empty canyonwaiting for the echo of your voiceto fill it.Sitting at your desk is like watching the waves of the sea, waiting for them to bring the mysteries of the deep to the surface so you can sort through shells and seaweed, sea glassBruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-60570959046882964052023-02-05T07:00:00.002-05:002023-02-05T07:32:35.021-05:00You must embarkEach morning you put pen to paper hoping words will appear. You never know what you'll write and so you write to find out what you're thinking, what you're feeling.First, you have to summon the courage to face the blank page. Only then can you begin the journey you need to make to an unknown place.Yes I know, you're unsure of your destination, the same way a bird might lose its way in aBruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-87161412055169618342023-01-02T13:00:00.001-05:002023-01-02T13:06:07.412-05:00Why do I write?Why do I write?Trying to answer that question is like trying to define love.How do you put a feeling into words? Why do you love anything?You feel something strongly... but what is that feeling? And where does it come from? Out of the blue? Or like a gentle wave that gains momentum and strength as it approaches the shore?You see words appear on the page beneath your pen, and your heart melts.You Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-7295397801261095662022-12-02T10:00:00.010-05:002022-12-02T10:12:36.786-05:00It's like dreamingEach morning I listen to the silenceand hope to hear a voice and wordsI've never heard before.I listen with my earsbut, really, it's a differentkind of listeningthat requires you to openyour heart, to hearwhat you're afraid to sayor what you don't yet knowyou need to say.It's your voice and not your voice,it's your hand holding the penand writing down the wordson the page and not your hand.You Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-85435136235966764392022-11-01T07:30:00.001-04:002022-11-01T07:30:00.169-04:00The fear and magic of writingI'm revising lightly as I go through the manuscript again, but it's not easy to face the truth of what's on paper. I put this off for months, and each morning I'm still putting it off, not wanting to find out if I failed, not wanting to find out if I'm a failure. This fear (of being a failure) runs through my veins. It's what causes my need to procrastinate. It's what keeps me away fromBruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-14276973980739027352022-10-16T11:30:00.001-04:002022-10-16T11:45:02.392-04:00It's like improvYou don't have a plan. Each morning you take a pen and open your journal to see what will happen. It's this not knowing and your curiosity that brings you back to the page each day to see if you'll make a new discovery, a new way of understandingyourself and the world, a new way of seeing life. It's like improv, the art of Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-73836943199806175832022-09-11T08:00:00.002-04:002022-09-11T08:00:00.166-04:00What I learned in Mrs. Hunt's Fourth Grade ClassEvery day after lunch in Mrs. Hunt's fourth grade class we returned from recess and sat at our desks and listenedto her read aloud to us from a story book (which happened to be The Incredible Journey by Sheila Burnford). I don't remember the sound of her voice. Or if she was sitting or standing. Or the sound of her turning the pages. Just the pleasure of listening to her Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-40640651499067659652022-08-28T12:00:00.001-04:002022-08-28T12:01:12.291-04:00Where are you goingWhere are you goingand how do you knowyou're on the right path?What are the signposts you look for?How can you see a turncoming in the fog?Who is walking with you?Why are you making thisjourney anyway?Whose voice do you hearencouraging you to keepgoing?Whose voice do you heartelling you to stopbefore you hurtyourself?What is worth the riskof venturing into the unknown?How do you protect Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-70532044740348646622022-08-14T10:00:00.001-04:002022-08-14T11:33:04.415-04:00Just an empty skyNo poems in sightthis morning,just an empty horizon,a cloudless sky without wordsand mundane thoughts of errandsthat need to be run,visits to be made,plans for the weekend,prose without poetry--like life without music--no poems in sightthis morning,just an empty sky.Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-56774095524447853882022-07-27T07:00:00.002-04:002022-07-29T07:37:53.240-04:00Where to you go from here?Where do you go from here? How do you know which path to take?What if you can't see a path yet? How do you know howto carve a new one?Where does this knowledgecome from? When did you learnto have faith in yourselfso you could dive intothe unknownthinking--believing--you could discoverpearls hidden beneath the surface?Pearls that you find on occasion, not every time you Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-41609562127157039072022-07-07T10:00:00.001-04:002022-07-07T10:50:34.222-04:00Listening for a voiceYou think you're listening for words, waiting for them to appear, but really you're listening for a voice, and only when you hear that voice can you hear the words.It's a voice that whispers in your ear: "I am here. Are you ready?"And if you're unprepared, not ready to record what you hear, you'll miss it, and the voice will fall silent again.It's your voice and it's not your voice but all the Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-76191307048824768342022-06-12T07:30:00.000-04:002022-06-12T07:38:44.224-04:00One Writer's Process: Deborah UnderwoodWriting is HardI wrote a picture book last year. Revised, revised, had some interest, revised, revised, got to a point where it felt better, but now am at a point where to go forward I would need to revise again, and maybe remove some of what I thought the story was about (although exactly what it is about has remained elusive, even to me).Have you ever had a fallen soufflé story? One where Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14706180.post-10509997483535520472022-06-01T07:00:00.001-04:002022-06-01T07:00:00.190-04:00Learning to trust the processOne of the things you need to learn about writing is how to trust the process, to trust yourself, your imagination, to accept whatever images your imagination gives you, to receive without judgment whatever words appear in your mind, to open the gate and let anything that wants to come onto the page come onto the page. You have to learn not to resist, not to judge, not to second-guess, to Bruce Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13184015349784934372noreply@blogger.com0