Why I decided to publish poems.

I've always enjoyed (in my half-assed way) writing. Ever since I was a little girl stories seemed to fill my head and I would madly scribble these ideas down.  As I got older the tone of these stories changed from a character making friends with all the animals (seriously...it was a paragraph long.) to a character whose pet came back to life, (not in that terrifying creepy way that happened in Pet Cemetery), to a full length novel with pirates, dragons, wizards, assassins, and all other sorts.  It was glorious and epic.  It was glepic. ^_^ 

I dreamed of being a published author.   I imagined that one day this novel (the one with the pirates, dragons, wizards, assassins, etc.) would be resting on the shelves of the book stores. People would be captivated by the title and cover image.  They'd read the first sentence and immediately sit down to read the whole thing in one go.  Instant success. Movie deal and video game already in the works. (High expectations!)

The reality however is that this novel will never be published.  It has too many flaws.  Too many inconsistencies...it needs too much work even though I've already revised it 100+ times.  That's the problem when one is too critical of themselves.  I want to be proud of what I write.  I want to send it off into the world and be sure that people will enjoy it fully.  Not that I really expect to be successful. (I'll always be a dreamer.) I just want to do well.  I don't want people to hate anything that I write, so I hate it for them in the hopes of perfecting it...one day.

Now that I'm older and have begun working on a novel that I seriously want to get published, I'm finding it harder to get my ideas down.  I struggle with describing things and making sense of anything.  I have strong characters but as far as actual content...it's all very weak.  I get restless and overwhelmed as soon as I open the document, so I just sit and stare at it in disgust and despair.  Save and Quit.

I'm not the only writer who has this problem.  My biggest flaw is that I've stopped trying.  It will be weeks, months...years before I look at that story again.  I stopped believing that I wanted it bad enough.  I stopped believing that I was good enough. So, I gave up.  One day I'll get to it.  That's what I tell myself...that's what I've been telling myself for the last few years.

I was looking through my poem book one random day and the thought came to me that there were enough to publish.  I thought for a minute and sort of turned up my nose at the idea.  I never wanted to publish my poems. Who the hell wants to read them? I'm not an author of poetry! I write novels.  Epic novels filled with humor, romance, murder, intrigue. (Not really.) I don't want to be known for poems. (Not that I have anything against authors who strictly publish poems.  I love poems. I love reading them.) I sighed. Like you do when you're not sure that you're sure of anything.  I have a brief existential crisis and toss the book aside.  Two seconds later I scoop the book up and cradle it like some precious and holy relic.

I read through this collection of poems that I've written over the course of 10 years.  I feel all the feels and have a good cry at some particularly touching verses.  I decided at that moment that it was time to let it go.

When you're a secretive person, as I am, you hoard all your emotions until you end up looking like that old lady from the labyrinth.

I didn't want to feel like that anymore. I wanted to stand up straight, dust myself off and pull myself out of whatever hole I fell into and made a home out of.  So I spent a few weeks re-reading the poems and changing little bits here and there as well as deciding to omit a few that made no sense or were just too much.

Then I decided to tell one of my sisters about my revelation.  She was super excited and supportive and gave me my final push.  So I went ahead and did all the work in CreateSpace. (I'm keeping that experience for a different post.)  I finally hit the "publish" button on September 1st after 8 months of preparing and debating on if I should go through with it for real.

Ultimately, I decided that sharing one's experiences with others is a way to connect with them.  It's a small way of saying, "Hey, I know you're probably having a rough day. I did too, let's sit and commiserate together."

I know that my poems aren't going to solve world issues or make people feel good about life but maybe they'll make some other hermit feel less alone.  We can have our own little hermit club, only we'll never know about each other because, well...hermits hermit.  We don't really gather socially. Defeats the whole concept of hermitage doesn't it?  Anyway...you get where I'm going.  If not, well then stick with me and eventually you will. <3

~Yarrow