May Time (not my time)

Here we are, over halfway through May and the process of writing still has not dulled for me (however much my output might be dull). I adore feedback - who doesn't - and my daughters singing teacher, who was willing to pay for two of my collections after I made a gift of one of them (good marketing ploy?) took them and read them and a few days later told me that she found my poetry 'refreshing' and that she kept on reading them, one after the other. Subsequent to that she then said that, as a response to my poetry, she herself had written three new poems herself. I was astounded and so pleased! True, she had not said she liked them, but they had been a catalyst for her, a starting point for her own expression and that is something to be pleased at indeed.

I have an uncomfortable feeling that she might be 'better' than I; but that is just the way of things.

In other worlds, I have had two people whom I respect and treasure in different ways dissolve in tears in front of me due to a variety of personal sadness and situations. Not to turn these independent situations inward in an egotistical way; but these spontaneous demonstrations of inner turmoil and deep distress affected me greatly, and the feeling of powerlessness; of being unable to ride to the rescue (my default wish and need in these situations), made it difficult to see the tears and sadness spilling out in front of me and knowing that there was no word, no key, no balm that I could offer that could help in any way. To discover once again that I am a frail and unremarkable human being is a bitter dawning for the soul and ego.

In yet more worlds, I am partway through the refining of what is turning out to be a novella. Written many years ago and from an imagined set of circumstances that were possible but probably unexplored by those involved; I have found a new purpose in writing a story once more. Each now refinement, every new attempt to polish the words written in another life is a way to remove myself from my painful and powerless situation. I am still buffeted by the organisation I nominally work for and, in fairness, I know that these artistic endeavours provide me with the distraction and focus I need to help me through each day.

Yes I am sad that my 'readership' is and will remain low, that I shall be ever undiscovered in an age where you can reach fame merely by reaching a level of fame or public awareness. I have always been taught to do my best at all times; to walk from situations and work where I can honestly say that I am certain of doing my best, of giving the most I could then and there to that situation.

All artists are to an extent on an ego trip - believing that  they have a worthy point of view that is deserving of an audience; and I am no exception. I recognise that I am limited in myriad ways, but I still think that some of my output would chime, would resonate, with an audience of more than just a handful of people. But perhaps that is not my destiny. 

Thanks for stopping by, every blessing and keep reading...