I think I’m going to take a break from poetry for a while.
There’s a few reasons for that. One, I don’t respect it enough. Which is to say, I find writing it too easy, which probably means it’s no good. Poetry feels like cheating because it doesn’t need to tell a logical story or have a satisfactory ending. Thinking of a poem to write comes down to what mood I’m in. The rest of the reasons tie in with my not respecting poetry enough. For example, the cynic in me can’t help thinking that nobody cares about anyone’s poetry except their own, unless it’s absolutely brilliant or it’s from a famous writer. Reading my poems feels nice but the apathy (imagined or otherwise) I see when others hear it makes me lose heart. And the last reason is I want to write fiction–novels–and, let’s face it, poetry doesn’t sell. It’s a fun exercise but I have no particular interest in making a name for myself as a poet.
Getting back into writing fiction isn’t easy. It feels like I’ve been taking a vacation by writing poetry. I don’t have to worry about plot or character development or whether there’s any point to the story. Worse, I criticize others’ writing despite not producing anything worthwhile of my own.
Before writing this post I spent about forty-five minutes writing down story ideas, most of which I already tried to write in some fashion or another. When trying to think of something new, I kept asking, “What’s the point? What’s the point of writing this? What am I trying to say?”
I kind of miss not caring about that and just writing for fun.