I left early for class this morning, arrived in time to get a spot in the parking lot and went in to order a small latte and journal (and encourage myself) for an almost hour. I had to leave two poems unfinished to get to class on time. But, I was encouraged that poems came even under stress. I'd hoped for a small class, maybe six or eight, but alas, 16! and I couldn't hear well enough to understand Ms. Jude's soft voice from my usual spot at the back table. So, I spoke up and asked for the seat beside her. So much better. I'm so grateful. I'm hoping I can find a way to repay all for their understanding and kindness. After everybody introduced themselves, Bela and I traded seats. I could listen with ease and focus.
The truth is, it's scarier than I thought. I was fine until it came to analyzing a poem, in a big group. Crafting poetry is, in the end, a great deal about revising, and editing to pare down to the essence. The part I love, the creation, is about to get a scene stealing, inconvenient, and difficult little brother... whom I'll grow to appreciate and love. I am a good editor. Every process is a family of skills. I'm watching Julie and Julia, so, good night.
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