Try This: Word Catching

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Get out the pen and paper, let’s write!

Yes, I said pen & paper, writing by hand. The physical act of fingers gripping pen against page is an elemental process that stirs mind and words. You want to think, but not too much. Hand and touch keep it real and close. There’s a time for keyboard and making sense — it’s called editing. Right now we’re writing. Kick your editor (and laptop) to the curb.

I like writing prompts and gimmicks, any path that gets me out of my right mind and into my write mind. I can fill up pages with direct writing — this happened, that happened, I feel, blah blah blah. That’s not writing, that’s a diary.

When I want to write — indirect, sideways, with a slant — I need an approach that tricks my mind into low-pressure and all fun.

Here’s my latest way in: Word Catching

Find an audio recording of a poem.
Go here, or here, or find your own.

Listen — not for content but for words.

Write down words & phrases as fast as you can. You won’t be able to write them all but you’ll catch a few here and there. It won’t make much sense, or maybe it will, and that is the magic.

Assemble your words and phrases. See what fun, insightful or unexpected connections you can make.

Refine. Go into Editor mode. A poem doesn’t have to make sense. Sometimes a poem is music and play. Do what feels right and true for you.

Tada! You have exercised the mind. Maybe you have a poem, or a good workout. Maybe your next great poem is peeking, waiting for you to begin again.

Side Gate

Warnings are chewable. 

We cannot feel touch, cannot know ourselves

without looking between the space we lost. 

You have a before that is part of the now. 

What at first is a condition of knowing

is his body too close.

Absence came to you. 

Nothing is a complex space. 

Somehow a center disappears, 

sensation is erased. 

You feel your body wince. 

You are in the dark. 

You wanted to stop. 

Keep walking.

Trauma is a side gate, 

a back entrance, locked. 

You press firmly. 

You are wound. 

Everything pauses. 

Everyone is always sorry. 

— Drew Myron