Even Mama needs to revise

Dear Kids,

Yep.  It is true.  Even Mama needs to revise her writing.

I just don’t have the luxury to do it often.  But I squeezed in some revisions between trips to the turkey and dessert table.  The long drive to our Thanksgiving get-together was helpful too.

So here it is —- the reality of revision in the adult world, outside of school.

And with a bit of alliteration thrown in — “reality of revision.”  Unimpressed, huh?

That phrase popped into my mind, so I wrote it down, squashing that inner critic who whispers “Is that the best you can do, dearie?”  I encourage you to do the same thing during a free write or the writing a rough draft.  Write boldly.  Don’t worry if it is pretty.  Just splash your color onto the page.

My blogging activities usually show that free writing approach —– a quick jotting down of thoughts.  Time to revise is rare.  If I do revise, it is done after you have gone to bed, so you don’t see the process.

This time, I took photos of my revisions so you  can see that I do practice what I preach.  When time permits.  In the adult world, time is “wibbly, wobbly, timey, wimey stuff.”

Below is the poem “A Walk to the Mailbox” that I posted several days ago.  After I posted it, I printed out a hard copy, keeping it nearby, making small revisions as ideas came to mind.  Mostly, I focused on capturing how I felt and what I saw with stronger images and details.

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Then I went to the computer, made my revisions and printed a revised copy.  I kept this copy nearby, even taking it with me on the long drive to visit family.  I made a few more revisions and even decided to change up the order of the stanzas because it made more sense in the timing of events.

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Taking the above draft back to my computer, I made the changes, and now I offer the final draft of my poem below.

It will not enter the canon of great American poetry.  I am not even sure it is a “good” poem or whose standards would determine it good or mediocre.

What does matter — it is a poem about us, a glimpse of our lives.  We could have blinked and missed it.  But the attempt to write this moment inscripts it right onto our hearts, where we can retrieve it when we need to cling to something good.  And there will be days when we must cling to something good.

So go read your Mama’s poem.  Extra credit** goes to the first kid who can memorize and recite it.

Love,

Mama

**extra credit to be given in the form of chocolate

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A Walk to the Mailbox

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I had forgotten

how to breathe

until I walked away

from the computer, research and choices tensing my shoulders

and entered a different space —-

the space between you and me.

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I had forgotten

how it felt to walk

outside —

my chest unfurling, hair on my skin reaching toward the November sun.

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I had forgotten

contentment

until it reached into my ears,

delved into my heart —

the laughter of teenage brothers racing backward

down the long driveway slope,

their sisters trying too,

uneasy giggling,

trying to go fast, trying not to fall

on the sharp rocks.

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We used to make this walk together

when all of you were little, clinging to my hands and skirt,

a mother hen with her little chicks huddled close.

I had forgotten.

But I remembered when I saw how far ahead of me you run now.